


a promise

by ethereal_rainbow



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels, Angels, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Hurt, Jealousy, M/M, Memory Loss, Mutual Pining, Romance, Transformation, jihoons ultimate regret part 129387123, until they separate, whole idiots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-12 09:44:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20562263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ethereal_rainbow/pseuds/ethereal_rainbow
Summary: Dear Soonyoung,This is Jihoon. If you remember. We made a promise— that we’ll meet. On Earth. Together. And be together.I remember I said all those mean things to you. And I take it back. All of them. Please look at me, not at them, not at those boys that you’re always with after we’ve transformed from angels to humans.Me, I’m a worker at Made My Dawn hotel. You, you’re a part-time barista at a cafe nearby. Us, we used to be angels. The memories of you – and me – all came back to me, slowly. Why did it not go back to you?I’ll chase you back. I swear. After every boy, after every lost moment— I’ll bring you back to my side. I’ll repay all the times I have rejected you, and hurt you. I’ll make you the happiest, and I’ll be the Jihoon you’ve always needed.Soonyoung. Our promise— don’t you remember?Jihoon.aka. soonhoon angels au in which they transform into humans for thirty-four days, and Jihoon just can’t get Soonyoung out of his mind.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 080919 ---  
happy almost-one year anniversary of my inactivity here in ao3 ! :D  
other than my inactivity in posting fics, i did read a lot and :") they make me cry every time :")
> 
> anyways, thank you for clicking in ! :) i hope you enjoy it :>  
[twitter](https://www.twitter.com/tangyuan__) [cc](https://curiouscat.me/tangyuan)

In movies, heaven looked like a palace. Heaven was a place where golden streaks of sunlight would mark the territories of angels. It was a place wrapped in blankets of the hearth, spoonfed passionfruit, handpicked grapes. Heaven… that was where all the good souls go after death, right? Where they would enjoy time spent with angels, creating and controlling human beings on earth?

It wasn’t really the same in this world. They weren’t floating above Earth, nor were they sitting on clouds that would condense and fall as rain in the central cities. It felt more like a long queue in a clinic, or a waiting room for service.

The gates of the Heavens lead to a lobby; sofas were arranged spiralling towards the center— where a mini fountain sat with its rims painted in gold. Speakers were attached to the corners of the room, and if you don’t pay a lot of attention to the white clothes or halos, the Heavens looked a lot like a normal hotel lobby. There were stairs that led to big rooms for different generations of angels, all of which were compressed against all four sides, constructing the ‘building’: so-called the Heavens.

Slumped upon white sofas or leaned against white pillars, angels squirmed in the space. Endless chattering bounced off the walls of the Heavens.

“Yeah, but what do you think about the possibility of… maybe getting into the Whitelist this year?” A voice had been floating in and out of Jihoon’s ear as he sunk into the couch.

A whitelist— _ the _ Whitelist; it was a compiled record of every single angel that was going to descend onto Earth and transform into a human being for thirty-four days. It was, less of a quest, but more of a fun game— to Jihoon, at least.

Earth; it was the home of all humans, the piece of land located several atmospheres beneath their ground, the place where all the angels ascended from after they passed. No one really knows what happens after being thrown down to Earth; memories were wiped before descending, and before ascending. There were perpetual rumours, and at the same time, none at all.

Higher than the Heavens, the Greater Holy Spirit had determined that this semi-annual quest was a mission for angels to make a positive change in this chaotic world— and it was to make someone happy. For thirty-four days, that would be the ultimate goal; whether it was to date someone, or help them move on from grief, an angel had to continuously improve a human’s life.

In the last seventeen days, there would be a timer imprinted on the wrist of the angel, and it would count down towards the day of the angel’s return. But not every angel can return— and this was a question in the mind of all angels. There were stories of angels that never came back to the Heavens, and their connection gradually began to distance.

But the chance of an angel getting into the Whitelist was like winning the lottery. Out of maybe a few million angels, there were less than fifty to be chosen for the Whitelist.

“If we do get into the Whitelist…”

Jihoon didn’t even know whether this voice was talking to themselves or not. “I don’t think we will, Soonyoung.”

Soonyoung turned to Jihoon, who wasn’t even thinking about the possibility of going down to Earth. “There’s a chance, Jihoon!” The sofa that was wrapped in white cloth creaked when Soonyoung pressed his hand on the surface, staring at Jihoon, who had his arms crossed, looking away.

“Of what?” Jihoon challenged. “One in maybe a hundred thousand?”

Jihoon didn’t know the reason for his frustration underneath that rebuttal. He didn’t know why his eyebrows pressed together whenever Soonyoung brought up the idea of going down to Earth. Neither did he know why he didn’t want Soonyoung to go, to leave his side, even if it was only for thirty-four days.

As if water was thrown over his blazing fire above his head, he looked down to see his hand, so gently, tucked into a warm, pale one— yet shaking with coldness or fear, he never knew. Jihoon wanted to hold onto this hand like a lifeline, even if it was just for a second. He didn’t want to come to terms with his heart, which was beating faster than the most rhythmic songs he ever composed.

Above Jihoon’s line of vision, Soonyoung puffed out his bottom lip. “One in a hundred thousand is still a chance.” The slight crack in his voice reminded Jihoon of the vulnerable, weak Soonyoung when he first arrived to the Heavens.

** _Back Then_ **

“Yeah, just over there, open that door!”

Jihoon felt like his ears were going to fall off just hearing Mr. Choi repeat that command over a billion times. Jihoon was in the Angel Group Thirteen, since he had turned into an angel in the thirteenth generation. A new group is formed every fifteen years, and the first one would always be the ‘supervisor’. For Group Thirteen, a young angel that went by the name of Choi Seungcheol was assigned as the role. He was just a year older than Jihoon, which made Jihoon wonder what was so important about him that he had to obey.

The door at the end of the hall had gaps that revealed light rays, imprinting silver lines on the cemented ground. It was just his second day here, and he had to open some _ door _? What was it for anyway?

When he gripped tight onto the door handle, he was chanting to himself, _ I’ll get out of here. Right after I get this door swung open, I’ll return to my room. _ His room; the one with a grand piano sitting in the corner by a window, the one that had its lights turned on until the irrational hours of the night, the one that he’d grown to love in the first forty-eight hours.

Jihoon opened his mouth as more light pierced into the lobby. “Wel—”

“Get me out of here.” A pleading face clutched Jihoon’s white robe in his fists, staring up at him like a bear who wanted to be freed.

An animated tiger t-shirt. Messy black hair. Dried tears. Jihoon realised that this _ person _ wasn’t even supposed to be up in the Heavens, they weren’t wearing the correct dress code – white clothes – and neither were they ready to enter! Plus, he didn’t think an _ angel _ could reject walking through the doors of the Heavens, right? It was against the rules!

With a steady hand, Jihoon curled his fingers around this person’s right wrist, and was surprised to find it bathed in sweat. “I, uh, I’m sorry, sir, you can’t ‘get out of here’, this is—”

Jihoon’s eyes widened and his hands fell to his sides when the person in front of him – who didn’t look much older, or much younger than him – fell to the floor in despair. “Tell me this is not what it’s meant to be. This is not what it is.”

A burning feeling was tempted to explode out of Jihoon’s mind. Pity filled his eyes, but what would Mr. Choi say if he finds out Jihoon didn’t open the door and let the new person in? What would other angels say about him after this?

“Look,” Jihoon started, but didn’t know how to continue, or what to say. “I… don’t think you should—”

“I shouldn’t be here.” The boy held his face in his hands, his eyes slanted and monolidded, staring straight, like he was wondering what those rays on the ground were. “Where is this…? No—” the boy’s hands scurried around, as if he was looking for something on the floor— “The dance competition. The assembly. My…”

When he didn’t continue, Jihoon exhaled. _ What a hard man to handle. _ He reached out a hand, managing the friendliest, most sympathetic voice he could. “Come on, stand u—”

The back of his hand rose in fire when the boy swatted his hand away with his full force from the floor. His eyes were closed. He was screaming. His voice was cracked, as if it was sore from all the yelling he had done in his head. “_ Get away from me! I don’t want to be here! _”

Jihoon tasted bitterness in his mouth. His feet were planted into the ground, and he had devoted himself to bringing this person past these gates and into the Heavens.

He bent his knees, and even if his eye level wasn’t the same with the boy, he remembered who they were meant to be anticipating for. “Hi, I’m Jihoon. You must be Soonyoung.”

Reluctantly, Jihoon pulled his hand away from Soonyoung’s touch— no matter how much he wanted to feel it. He averted his gaze, clearing his throat like he didn’t drink water for three days.

“Jihoon?” Suddenly Soonyoung’s cracked voice didn’t feel like an emotional blow to Jihoon. Jihoon felt Soonyoung scoot closer to him on the couch. “You alright—”

He didn’t let Soonyoung finish, and he pushed the armrest to get on his feet. He didn’t dare take a look at Soonyoung, when all of his mind was filled with the scene of Soonyoung yelling in front of the gates of the Heavens. He couldn’t face him, not now.

So he took a run, to nowhere in particular.

Soonyoung had warmed up to Jihoon in the past three months or so, and they’d gotten closer because of their love for music that accompanied them from their past lives. Soonyoung often danced in Jihoon’s room, precisely pressing his feet on the ground, moving his hands in rhythmic ways that held Jihoon’s attention every time. When Jihoon always presented him with a new piece to dance to, he’d never forget the way Soonyoung’s eyes morph into crescent moons and the way his smile grows so wide it reveals his white teeth when he saw them. More often than none, Jihoon thought Soonyoung was the real angel.

Jihoon remembered the lessons that Soonyoung had given him so Jihoon could join in whenever he danced. Soonyoung’s warm touch that stopped him from falling, his stern eyes every time Jihoon turned his arms the wrong way— and the main reason these mistakes even _ happen _ was that Jihoon kept his eyes on Soonyoung this whole time.

But above all their times spent in Jihoon’s room composing and making music, in Soonyoung’s room dancing and eating chips, Soonyoung came to Jihoon several times, with the same few words tumbling out of his lips: “Do you think I can go back to Earth?”

Jihoon held his fist as he felt his heart sink to his stomach. _ Am I not good enough? Did the times spent with me not account for all the years we’d lost on Earth? _

_ Why do you still want to go back? _He wished he could tell Soonyoung what he thought, but he didn’t want to face that pleading look that was plastered all over his mind ever again.

When he found a pillar to hide behind, he peeked at the couch; Soonyoung had his hands laced together on his lap, maybe contemplating what he’d done wrong. The expression that hung on his face made Jihoon feel like kneeling in front of him to apologise a thousand times.

_ Soonyoung wants to return to Earth. He wants to try to continue living— his ‘normal’ life. _

So why couldn’t Jihoon let him?

He pressed his nails into his palm, reminiscing the warmth and comfort that Soonyoung delivered to his hands in a mere second. Jihoon distracted himself by looking at the paste texture of the wall, a drowning feeling engulfing him into darkness.

Before a lukewarm droplet slid down his cheek, Jihoon didn’t realise he was crying.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 140919 ---
> 
> thank you for clicking in here !! <3 i hope you like it :>
> 
>   
[twitter](https://www.twitter.com/tangyuan__) [cc](https://curiouscat.me/tangyuan)

_ Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. _

The repeated practice of letting oxygen in, and carbon dioxide out of his lungs. Feeling sweat drip from his fingertips, Soonyoung rubbed his thumb on the palm of his hand as if he was mixing some kind of solution.

But the only solution he desperately needed now was for Lee Jihoon to talk to him again! It had been a whole twenty-six hours of averting gazes, ignoring greetings, awkward silences— and it was making Soonyoung feel like he committed the worst of crimes. Jihoon didn’t usually avoid him like this. Yet, Jihoon treated him like wind since he mentioned the Whitelist; which he was sure of Jihoon hating, so why did he bring it up again?

Whitelist Day was in a few days. Whitelist Days appeared twice a year, once in spring, and once in autumn— which was around this month. He didn’t think that it was wrong to raise the Whitelist in conversation since that was what the other angels were doing. But Soonyoung still felt at fault, not stopping the words from spilling out of his mouth. He mentally gave himself a light slap on his thigh.

Soonyoung buried his cheeks in his hands, his skin freezing from the cold ventilation in the lobby. He let the silent screeches from chairs and the light chattering from the building devour him, willing to give everything in to not feel this empty. Soonyoung focused on the sounds of the colourless water from the fountain. Somehow, the drops of water encountering the surface didn’t feel much like the sweat dripping from the back of his neck, which he was sure as hell wasn’t there because of the heat.

When he pressed his hands harder into his face, he didn’t realise how much he missed the warmth of Jihoon’s hands. They always made him feel like he was back into his mother’s arms, the homely sensation tingling in every one of his cells.

Maybe he should find Jihoon. He’d given him more than twenty-four hours of space, for him to be frustrated over whatever Soonyoung did, for him to feel guilty of not ever talking to Soonyoung again. Now, it was most probably time for them to get back together again— as always.

When Soonyoung stood from the white couch with its sheet wrinkled from the seat, his empty stare dropped. Should he ask for an explanation? Or just forgive him like that? For leaving him alone, wondering what he did wrong?

But Soonyoung had been the one to forgive all this while, even though they didn’t fight that much. All their ‘fights’ were just constraining silence between the two.

In the Heavens, there were stairs everywhere you turn. Soonyoung realised that fact when he’d gotten lost, thinking some of these steps might lead him to his room, but on the way up the stairs, a senior angel had told him that was strictly Angel Group Eleven’s area. As he was sure of not getting it wrong this time, Soonyoung checked the tag dangling from the railings. He turned his head towards the stairs leading up to Angel Group Thirteen’s area.

_ Okay, that’s enough thinking for today. Everything will be fine. _ Or so, he  _ tried _ to convince himself, oppressing the shaking of his hands and the rawness in his calves. At least for now, he’d find Jihoon, and maybe ask for the new piece he’d seen him working on. Or maybe just a hand to hold again.

“Soonyoung?”

The pressure that floated together with his name reached him when he shuddered from the voice of Mr. Choi. Soonyoung’s feet were fixed into the third step of the stairs, his white slippers – that had a mini tiger imprint on it – seemed to sink lower into the ground the longer he stood. “Y… Ye—”

“Are you okay?”  _ Oh no, Mr. Choi sounds worried. _ That was one of the last things that Soonyoung wished to happen. He turned his head to see Mr. Choi’s eyebrows furrowed together, his mouth tightly shut after the question. He didn’t want to worry him, trouble him, and drag him into any of his matters. Mr. Choi was too busy for all that.

The relationship between Mr. Choi and Soonyoung was pretty simple; it was just a supervisor-angel alliance. They kept their words to a minimum, and they had barely interacted. They never met in the hallways, but if they did, a nod, a smile, and a run were all that Soonyoung could think of.

Who could blame him? Mr. Choi was the supervisor of Angel Group Thirteen, and he probably had all the control that anyone could ever ask for. Like, what if Soonyoung made a mistake, was he going to be thrown off the Heavens— and end up somewhere else in some kind of darkness?

Every thought, every possibility, every interaction with Mr. Choi made goosebumps stand on Soonyoung’s arms.

He swept imaginary dust off his white robe, straightening the sides as if he was preparing for a job interview. “I’m okay, Mr. Choi,” he managed, spitting out words from his dry lips. “There’s just been some problems these days…”  _ Goddammit, Soonyoung, you just  _ had _ to be this honest, didn’t you? _

When Mr. Choi took a step forward, his lips were pressed in a straight line. Soonyoung mustered up all his courage to be stuck in his spot.  _ Don’t run away. Don’t run away. He just cares. He just cares for you. _

Mr. Choi’s eyes examined him and for a second, and Soonyoung thought there was something stuck on his face. Mr. Choi’s voice was soft and vulnerable, letting Soonyoung forget he was the supervisor, just for a while. “Do you need any help?”

Soonyoung started to shake his head. He gripped the closest railing, exerting all his energy on the piece of metal. He forced a smile, but he knew above everything that he was making the situation so much more awkward than it needed to be.

“Say…” Soonyoung could see Mr. Choi trying to change the subject, and he thanked him silently for it. Mr. Choi leaned against the wall next to the stairs, crossing his arms that were covered in a piece of red cloth. “You’re really close to Jihoon, huh?”

A gulp.  _ Well, sure we were, but that was back then! Twenty-six hours ago! _ He felt something sting on his skin, and a boulder stuck in his throat. Every inch of his body wanted to escape from this situation, his mind unwilling to listen further. “I guess so…”

The atmosphere around them instantly felt resistant, as if there was white noise in the background asking them to back off from one another. All the angels from the lobby looked indifferent, reminding Soonyoung that he was simply the only one distressed. When Mr. Choi nodded slowly, Soonyoung exhaled half of his held breath. “You really like him?”

Before Soonyoung could even make up his mind to answer that question, he noticed his head was already bobbing up and down in response.  _ Was this too much information? I must be oversharing. But he asked first! _ He wanted to flee— he was subtly wishing for a random angel to drag him away, to accidentally fall up the stairs, to just disappear. But that would be rude, wouldn’t it?

So he stayed put, watching Mr. Choi’s cheeky smile grow. His smile ignited a dimple to sprout on his cheek, and this was the first time Soonyoung noticed how silky his skin looked. “I see you two together all the time—” Mr. Choi lowered his gaze, distracting himself with kicks of his sneakers— “But he wasn’t with you this morning at the diner. Did anything happen?”

His smile began to fade, and he didn’t wait for Soonyoung to answer— not like he knew how to.

“If you really like Jihoon—  _ how much _ ?”

Soonyoung didn’t have a reason to hold his breath anymore. He was no longer scared of Mr. Choi, but instead, someone else. He felt his stomach churn, as if butterflies turned into moths.  _ How much I liked Jihoon? How has Jihoon been? _ Now that he thought about it, Jihoon wasn’t at the diner this morning.  _ Did he have himself locked up in his room for twenty-six hours? _

His eyes darkened, and he didn’t want Mr. Choi to see who he was now. He didn’t even realise he was clenching his fists so hard until he felt a sharp pain in each of his palms.

If Soonyoung could run, it would be about now. So he did.

** _Back Then_ **

“Five, six… seven, eight,” Soonyoung had been counting under his breath since seven in the morning when he knocked on Jihoon’s door. It was always very refreshing to dance in Jihoon’s room when he produced a new piece.

Dancing wasn’t the only thing on his mind today. Just yesterday, Soonyoung had picked up all the cloth that he had hidden in his room somewhere, and he had decided to tie them together. But in the end, he realised he had too much, so he’d produced two— two identical bracelets, one for him, and one for someone extremely special to him.

And he had them stored nicely in his white jeans pocket.

He could hear Jihoon’s foot tap in beat of the rhythmic song beating in the background. Jihoon once told Soonyoung that he had specially requested speakers in his room, hence, two speakers locked themselves in the far corners. The bass sent vibrations through the soundproof walls, and they could feel nothing but music streaming through their veins.

“Should this move be like this?” Soonyoung’s voice overlayed the music, and he pulled his hands out to demonstrate a series of poses that could accompany the song. He watched Jihoon stand from his spinning chair, the backrest crashing lightly to the side of the table.

Jihoon examined Soonyoung with a serious expression, his forehead wrinkled from all the thinking. Soonyoung liked that about Jihoon; he would always analyse his moves and give him professional advice.

“I think you can bend your knees a little, too…” Jihoon pointed at Soonyoung’s legs. He tipped his head back laughing when Soonyoung stumbled, losing his balance. Soonyoung smiled. He wouldn’t have fallen if it weren’t for staring at Jihoon for so long.

Jihoon stayed standing, using his fingers to suggest where Soonyoung can move on his ‘stage’. Soonyoung repeated his moves, and soon, they had made up choreography for the whole chorus.

“Alright,” Jihoon exhaled, sliding back to his laptop with an audio cord connected to the side. He hit ‘space’.“Let’s try it.”

When Jihoon stepped foot into the dancing space, Soonyoung fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. He watched Jihoon practice the steps that they’d just made up, and he noticed the composition, the positioning— everything was on point.

Soonyoung was staring in awe until Jihoon halted and turned to him. “Soonyoung?” He spoke over the music, crossing his arms. “It’s almost the first chorus.”

“Ye… Yes, sir!” Sheepishly, Soonyoung smiled with his eyes forming thin lines and his mouth revealing his straight teeth.

Their shoes were light on the ground, and their jumps were level with one another. Soonyoung didn’t have to look at Jihoon to know that he was doing exactly what  _ he  _ was doing— with a perfect, on point stance.

Without looking, he could see the serious, yet passionate expression hurled onto his face— and this was how he fell in love with Lee Jihoon.

A door he knew too well stood unfamiliar less than an arm away. His hand was already balled into a fist, his knuckles ready to send his pattern of knocking. He held back his hand from hitting the birchwood door— unsure why.

His left hand came in contact with the pocket of his robe. Under the thin fabric of the white robe, he could feel the bulge of tied up cloths— one for him, one for someone extremely special to him.

His heart was clapping like cymbals under the surface of his chest, and his body was like a whole orchestra spiralling out of control. Pursing his lips, he inhaled a breath. “Jihoon?”

_ Three knocks. Followed by four knocks. _

Nothing.

Soonyoung slid his hand down the door, reaching for the round metal handle. _ What is this man even mad about? _ His heart didn’t stop pounding; he wasn’t sure whether it was pounding out of anger, or out of fear. “I’m…”  _ Should I? _ “I’m coming in, Jihoon.”

Nothing.

He took the chance, pushing the door open, as well as other thoughts out of his mind. Light immersed into the doorway, white light laying a carpet for Soonyoung to walk on. When he finally adjusted his eyes to the room once bustling with music, he could make out a figure straightening in his chair.

A laptop was open; Soonyoung could see that he had a manuscript pulled out on the screen, the top bar cramped with quaver notes. On his desk, crumpled papers and balled tissues littered his workspace.  _ Was he sick? _

_ Or has he been crying? _

“Jihoon?”

No reply.

Soonyoung took straining steps, moving towards Jihoon’s black spinning chair.  _ The same one from practice. _ He made sure he was in Jihoon’s peripheral vision, but he regretted his choice— now he just  _ knew _ that Jihoon didn’t want to look at him.

But the rims of his eyes were red, and that realisation made Soonyoung long for someone to rip his heart out of his body.

At the back of Soonyoung’s mind, there were a billion things he wanted to say. All leading from forgotten  _ I love you _ ’s to  _ I miss you, I believe in you _ , to  _ What’s that new piece you’re working on, can I see? _ — but he just knew how to do  _ one  _ thing.

The door was wide open. The windows were closed shut. The curtains were pulled apart. Jihoon was unmoving. Soonyoung could finally breathe properly— not really. Soonyoung’s feet were planted on the ground.

And his arms— they were wide open.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 141019 ---  
sorry for the mini-hiatus ! :")  
here's the third chapter of fluff :))
> 
> [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/tangyuan__) [cc](https://curiouscat.me/tangyuan)

Jihoon had to keep a hand pinched under his thigh to stop himself from flooding his eyesight with salty tears once again. It was pathetic; what made him think he could avoid Soonyoung, or lock himself in his room, and be completely okay simultaneously? It was a stupid decision. And he wasn’t the one who snapped himself out of it.

It was Soonyoung.

At the corner of his field of vision, he could see the most familiar figure; somehow, he was able to feel the heat propelling from the white shirt, feeling a quilt wrapping around him. Soonyoung’s white shirt was oversized, yet it stuck to his body like skin. His arms were stretched out, drawing every part of Jihoon towards him like a magnet.

He could feel the bridge of his nose scrunch, blocking tears from falling— but before he could grab ahold of his petty mind, his arms returned to Soonyoung’s embrace.

Jihoon pressed his face into Soonyoung’s chest, feeling the fabric warm up with his tears. _ Pathetic. So pathetic. _ All he wished was for Soonyoung not to realise Jihoon gritting his teeth, silently punishing himself for leaving Soonyoung to wonder about the mistakes he’d never made.

A warm sensation tingled at the back of Jihoon’s head. He didn’t want to admit to his feelings that this was the warmth that he’d been looking for, the warmth that he needed in his entire life. Soonyoung’s palm melted into his scalp, his thumb stroking the hair roots that bore cold sweat.

Jihoon was starting to have trouble breathing.

“I’m here, Jihoon.” Soonyoung’s usual loud and enthusiastic voice had morphed into a comforting and soft voice, the one that was always reserved for situations like this; and Jihoon falls in love with it every time.

Jihoon’s voice, on the other hand, was raspy and un-singer-like, but he had to get the words out no matter what. “Thank you… Soonyoung. I… I love—”

“_ Wait! _”

His head spun like discs when his face was stripped of warmth and suddenly hit with the cold wind in the room. Wait_ ? Wait for what? _

Soonyoung’s face was pink as if he’d just ran two marathons back to back, and his hands held Jihoon’s shoulders an arm’s length away.

He mumbled something. Jihoon couldn’t quite hear it above the ridiculous ringing in his ears and the rhythmic beats that were played way too loud in his heart.

“Wh—”

“Not yet. Not yet.” Soonyoung’s voice wasn’t comforting and soft anymore. He spoke in staccato notes, holding his breath through every word.

“What do you mean—” Was it… what Jihoon thought it was? Did Soonyoung already figure out what he was going to say? Why did _ Jihoon _ want to say those words in the first place? He must be completely out of his mind.

Soonyoung’s right hand dropped from Jihoon’s shirt, and Jihoon was about to go grab it when Soonyoung reached inside his pocket.

Unexpected anticipation broke out in Jihoon’s ribs, his heart running at forté. _ A ring? No, that’s stupid. _ Why _ would it be a ring? _

A string of cloth emerged from his pocket, and at first it looked like Soonyoung was a magician at a circus, fishing out many pieces of cloth from a small pocket. But it was small. It was shaped like a loop, and for a second, Jihoon thought it was really a ring.

“I’m sorry for upsetting you… about the Whitelist.” Soonyoung’s eyes didn’t meet his, and Jihoon had the sudden urge to turn back time and take back his words— or his actions. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Jihoon started shaking his head, and he opened his mouth to reply, deny, comfort; but nothing came out.

“So,” Soonyoung continued, fidgeting with the cloth in his hand. Jihoon noticed there were two identical ones, both in white, but stained a little with yellow; they were beautiful. “I want to…”

A pause that lasted for a little too long made Jihoon catch his breath. The air suddenly started to warm up and be chilly at the same time.

“I want to… make a promise with you.”

_ A wedding promise? _ Jihoon slapped himself internally. Had he really been writing _ that _ many love songs? And when did everything about Soonyoung convert to unrequited love tropes?

“A… promise?” The word tasted funny in his mouth. Promises were indeed sweet when made, but promises could be bitter, destructive, when broken. Jihoon didn’t remember the last time he made a promise to someone.

The loops of cloth stopped circling around Soonyoung’s index finger. Now, they were untangled into two distinct bracelets. Jihoon sucked in a breath before he loses all the oxygen in his lungs.

“Can we promise… one another…” Soonyoung looked up all of a sudden, almost making Jihoon stumble back but he stayed planted on the ground— but barely. “Can we promise…”

Soonyoung looked serious. Maybe a little too serious. It was hard to get used to a serious Soonyoung. It had always been Loud Soonyoung, Annoying Soonyoung, Talented Soonyoung, but never Serious Soonyoung.

“Promise that no matter what, we’ll be together—” a pause, a breath— “Forever. Throughout all our Whitelist picks, throughout all our reincarnations, throughout all our human lives.”

The surface of Soonyoung’s eyes reflected the dim light in the center of the room, and it was almost clear to Jihoon that he was almost about to cry. Soonyoung was _ nervous _, he was nervous to even make a promise.

A water droplet slid down Jihoon’s tear-stained cheek. Jihoon was starting to think the tears he’d cried the last twenty four hours could account for all of his water intake.

He wanted to say yes. He wanted to say yes so bad. He started saying yes, even though his voice couldn’t make it. He mouthed so many yeses, it really felt like a wedding vow to him.

Jihoon gripped onto the hem of Soonyoung’s collar, the bracelet a little big for his wrist, but small enough to not fall through his hand. He held on tightly, in case he falls backwards and wake up from this daydream.

When the stance stumbled from a humane stance to a wobbling failed slow-dance pose, the two practically fell to the floor. Soonyoung’s butt hit the floor hard, and he gulped in pain. His palms were pressed on the ground to support his weight, and Soonyoung stared at Jihoon, who ended up sitting weirdly on his lap, unblinking.

Jihoon wanted to tear down the sky because of how stupid he probably had looked at this moment. “I’m sorry.”

His voice didn’t sound like anything; it was hoarse, totally clear that he had cried for the past few hours, and it felt empty, as if he hadn’t had a drink of water in ten years.

But what tore his attention away from his voice wasn’t the fact that he was pretty much flattening Soonyoung into a pancake, or the fact that he was _ this _ close to a boy that he’d avoided for the past few hours, or the fact that he _ was _ this close to a boy he’d been awaiting; instead, it was Soonyoung’s smile.

_ Goddammit. _ That smile. That grin from ear-to-ear. That beam of sunlight that stretched his lips to their maximum across his face, pushed his cheeks up to squish his eyes and scrunch his nose. A smile that Jihoon wanted to treasure somewhere deep in his pocket, somewhere where nobody would be able to find. He was selfish, but who could blame him? He wanted this smile to be only for him, and him alone.

Out of instinct, Jihoon’s hand flew up to contain that contagious, warm smile that made Jihoon’s lips tug up for the first time in a long time. His hand held Soonyoung’s warm cheek, his skin touching the lines on Jihoon’s palm. His fingertips that composed the many pieces which they choreographed for together, played keyboards and strummed guitars, touched the surface of his face delicately.

Jihoon’s vision began to fog up and this time, he was pretty damn sure it was because of Soonyoung and his stupid smile. His stupid smile that looked so good on him. His stupid smile that made Jihoon want to stay with him forever.

“You’re so cute sometimes,” Soonyoung whispered with his eyes shaped like letter Cs that eventually revealed his brown irises which held such beautiful galaxies within. Jihoon felt Soonyoung’s hand at the back of his head, the warmth digging into Jihoon’s mind.

The heart under Jihoon’s chest was thumping faster than the rhythm of his songs ever could. His mind was going to implode any second; it was like someone planted a timed bomb inside.

Jihoon descended his face closer to Soonyoung. He needed his warmth. The warmth that radiated off his skin, even under the coldest temperatures, all the freezing circumstances. He closed his eyes, feeling Soonyoung’s breath against his face. Soonyoung’s quick breathing reminded him of all the times they collapsed back to back after dancing throughout the night.

Blooming flowers. Rainbow fireworks. Starry nights. Enchanted gardens. Jihoon felt a wet kiss on the tip of his nose. His cheeks instantly rose in pink and his eyes shot open in shock. Did Kwon Soonyoung just kiss his nose?

A soft smile still stood undying on his lips. Jihoon touched that point of his nose with Soonyoung’s, and Jihoon allowed himself to delve into the new worlds that were born in Soonyoung’s eyes.

His voice was, now, firm and confident. “I promise you.”

Lee Jihoon must be completely out of his mind.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 141019 ---  
sorry for the pretty-huge hiatus ! :")  
happy 2020 !! thank you for reading :>
> 
> maybe some carat friends ? owo <3 
> 
> [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/tangyuan__) [cc](https://curiouscat.me/tangyuan)

Endless chattering died down into silence when the screen glitched. It was Whitelist Day; all angels were ushered into their respective lobbies to witness the Whitelist picks, waiting for their turn— or the other angels’ turns.

Soonyoung’s heart was about to break through the bones of his ribcage and plunge onto his lap. He picked up the hand closest to him— Jihoon’s.

It was warm, but drenched in cold sweat. He watched Jihoon’s gaze bounce between the two screens on either side of the lobby. He could almost hear the pounding of his heart ringing in his ears. He bit his bottom lip, nervous for what was to show up on the screen.

The screen was covered in strips of pink, blue, green, the colours bright and blinding.

A subtle nudge from Jihoon’s thumb made Soonyoung’s heartstrings vibrate like those on the guitar that he remembered Jihoon strumming. He recalled the familiar tunes that seemed to pull Soonyoung closer to Jihoon’s mind; he wished he had a physical album to appreciate these songs.

When he peered down at Jihoon’s pretty hands in his, a small churning in his stomach made him not want to go back to Earth anymore.

A shadow was cast over the two figures. “It’s almost time. If you’re chosen, bid your goodbyes now,” a smiling Mr. Choi chimed over their heads. Soonyoung and Jihoon retrieved their hands as fast as their reflexes could bring them, their faces burning red.

Soonyoung could feel Mr. Choi’s grin grow wider behind him; he couldn’t help but question,  _ does he like reading BL novels? _

“I was kidding.” Group Thirteen’s Supervisor turned on his heel, pulling at his robe. Soonyoung kept his eyes fixated on his empty, cold, palm— and how the space felt so out of place.

His feet were starting to feel restless after a long period of time he’d spent sitting, panicking, simply waiting for the glitching TV to change channels. Soonyoung was feeling restless.

Just as he was about to get up, a bell rang through the hall. The arranged beats and notes sparked up a mixture of thoughts across every angel’s mind, ranging from the most positive and admirable impressions to the most unbearable and heartbreaking trauma. Soonyoung wasn’t sure where he would place his: maybe somewhere between fear and excitement.

A list.  _ The _ Whitelist.

The words, the names – fifty of them – spread out on the screen like ripples produced on the surface of water after a stone was flung. Soonyoung skimmed through the names, feeling Jihoon’s hand slowly come up, reaching for his shoulder. Their two pairs of eyes scrolled down the list of names.

Shaking hands. Fleeting, abrupt heartbeats. Uncontrollable rapid breathing.

Jihoon’s slender finger points in the direction of the brightly lit screen that possessed all of the attention in the lobby. His voice was small, firm, yet weak— all at the same time. “There.”

_ The Whitelist: Kwon Soonyoung. Lee Jihoon. _

** _Back Then_ **

It always used to be this way. Just him, and him.

Just Kwon Soonyoung, and Jeon Wonwoo.

Soonyoung remembered sharing cotton candy that were just too big for one person. Oh, wasn’t it sweet…

He remembered forcing Wonwoo to wait for him while his persistence brought him to spend more than an hour at the fishing ducks booth; but it was worth it, being able to give a cat plushie to his best friend. He remembered holding Wonwoo’s wrist when his vision blurred from the continuous spinning of teacups, and Wonwoo kept shaking his head, repeating, “Soonyoung…  _ you  _ chose to ride this.” He remembered pulling Wonwoo towards the huge carousell, and Soonyoung had already set his eyes on the fluffy tiger; damn, he even remembered Wonwoo remarking, “Aren’t we a bit too old for— hey,  _ Soonyoung _ !”

As a drip of sweat rolled down the center of his forehead, Soonyoung peered up at the thick metal that led carts all the way up a hill; it was one of the first times he’d stood in front of such a huge roller-coaster.

“Should we go—” He heard Wonwoo chirp up, but boy, Soonyoung was already leaping towards the end of the queue. “Wait!  _ Soonyoung _ , I swear to God.”

Soonyoung’s eyes were glittering. He silenced the thumping of drums under his chest, replacing his nervousness with excitement. It felt like the moment he received a letter stating he was shortlisted for the National Dance Competition.

He found Wonwoo slowly nearing him, squinting his eyes suspiciously at the huge roller-coaster overhead. “Are you sure this is… safe?”

Soonyoung’s hand landed on Wonwoo’s shoulder.  _ Why wouldn’t this be? _ “Of course it is!” He felt a little tremble in his arm. “You… just need to get on, raise your arms up, and scream. No worries.”  _ Worry?  _ Soonyoung, in fact, was not as calm as he appeared to be.

But he left no time for Wonwoo to opt out of this. The next time Soonyoung followed Wonwoo’s gaze, peering up at the roller-coaster, they were on the second row of the  _ first _ cart, holding tight to the bar under their palms.

Underneath them, their seats started vibrating. The carts began taking in the sunlight, and the both of them could see everything from up here. Wonwoo swallowed. “When does it go down?”

“Soon.” Soonyoung hung a stupid grin on his face— not because it was the start of the ride, but because Wonwoo’s hands were gripped tightly onto the bar with his eyes held shut.

That was what it used to be; just him, and Jeon Wonwoo.

Soonyoung came back to his senses, having himself awakened by hands grabbing both of his arms. He yelped, softly telling them to not squeeze him so tightly— what were they doing? Arresting him?

Now that he thought about it, he didn’t actually know how the whole Whitelist procedure was carried out.

“Hey…” Soonyoung tried to yelp at the men, wrenching his arms from their grip— but he barely moved an inch. “Can you just, uh, loosen a bit—”

He looked up at them, realising they had… white masks on? Okay, he’d shut up now.

Where they were leading him to seemed to be towards the basement of the lobby. He was almost within arm’s reach to Jihoon’s back— if only these men would let go and let him hug Jihoon one last time.

The queue trailed down the stairs as he watched each angel being escorted into a room; it was like a hotel corridor, just that not a single cent was spent on wallpaper or fancy doors. Or even a carpet.

Soonyoung could see parts of the wall coming off, and some parts had long developed holes pierced already. He could hear every door hinges’ creaks, and the queue got shorter.

His turn. The men opened a door nearby and pushed him inside. Soonyoung flinched so hard at the impact of their shoving that he wasn’t able to pay too much attention to the room until he was left alone, back facing the worn-out door.

In front of him, there was a single chair facing another white wall. It sat in the spotlight – the only light in the room – and in the center of a white circle. It looked so much like an interrogation room; he started to wonder what was so exciting about getting into the Whitelist that he had to pray every night for  _ this _ to happen.

He looked around, hoping for some instructions, but when he was replied with silence, he sat on the chair— rather unwillingly.

The white walls around him were more worn-out than the ones outside, having apparent holes and white paint falling off. The parts of the wall that fell on the edge of the ground weren’t even picked up— it littered the four edges of the small room. Soonyoung shifted uncomfortably, averting his gaze.

“Kwon Soonyoung.”

He jumped in his seat. Good God, were the  _ walls  _ calling his name?  _ I’m sorry… I’m sorry for insulting you. _ He continued listening to the machine-generated voice coming from all sides.

“Passed away at age twenty-three. Fallen into Angel Group Thirteen, Supervisor: Choi Seungcheol.”

He nodded steadily. The slower it’d take for this machine to get to the main point, the more Soonyoung felt like his nerves were going to spring out of his skin. He fidgeted with his fingers, stroking the soft cloth wrapped around his wrist.

“You have been chosen in the Whitelist; you are now an angel that will descend onto Earth as a human being. You will stay there for thirty-four days, and you are in charge of making a positive change in another human’s life.”

A positive change? In thirty-four days? Was this system thinking that he was going to turn into some kind of president and save the world?

The machine didn’t answer his questions. “Your memories of the current will be wiped out for the time you are on Earth. However, they will be restored when you return to the Heavens.”

Now, did this system think that he was going to save the world when his  _ memories _ are wiped out? When he  _ forgets _ about this whole mission to start with?

It continued. “They will be replaced by realistic memories since childhood, as if you have been living until then. There will be a timer on your hand counting down for thirty-four days, but your human self would be oblivious to the timer.”

Soonyoung was starting to think this whole mission thing was getting a bit impossible for him. He was about to consider opting out of the Whitelist, but the white circle surrounding his chair shot piercing light onto the ceiling. He could see nothing but white.

“You will be transferred onto Earth in three seconds.  _ Three _ .”

He felt himself being tightened to the chair, his arms attached to his sides. He sucked in his breath. It was what he had always been waiting for. This chance— it was the chance he had been waiting for, to grant his wish of returning to Earth.

The machine’s voice was softer, as if there was some distance between them. “ _ Two _ .”

Soonyoung closed his eyes, shutting the white light out. What was it that Mr. Choi said? Oh, right, his last words— somewhere, somehow, he hoped that he, too, would be thinking the same thing;  _ Jihoon, I really like you. _

And, that Jihoon would keep his promise.

“ _ One _ .”

He squinted his eyes, still staring at white. Just that the white light glowed brighter, closing in on him. Soonyoung no longer felt his body sitting on the wooden chair. Air pressed on him from all directions.

He was free-falling.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 170120 ---  
hi !! thank you so much for reading !!  
the next chapter may come a bit later as my school has started :,)  
i'll try to write as much as i can in my free time, though !!
> 
> feel free to find out whether i'm still alive or hmu about anything !  
[twitter](https://www.twitter.com/tangyuan__) [cc](https://curiouscat.me/tangyuan)

“Jihoon?”

Someone… was calling his name?

“Jihoon, hey!”

He raised his hand to rub his eyes, squinting them open— but his vision was filtered with motion blur due to someone uncontrollably shaking him awake. There was a conclusion that he could come to, though: he was in a hotel room?

Oh, right. It was probably a Tuesday, observed from a calendar – that was crossed out messily – nearby. And it was probably around two in the afternoon, deciphered from the intense light blazing through the huge windows. He just had lunch; he ate extra ramen from the kitchen since one person was entitled to only one bowl of white rice— and that wasn’t filling enough.

What was this memory vomit?

He watched the arm shaking him slow down, making Jihoon think that he was done rattling the daylight out of him. But that said person shook him – one last time – by his shoulders. “Lee Jihoon. You have to wake up.”

Jihoon was finally able to open his eyes for more than three seconds, and he stared blankly at the concerned face in front of him. Oh, yes, he remembered. Kim Mingyu, his coworker. And friend. Kind of.

“Yes, Mingyu, I’m awake.”  _ But barely. _ He climbed down the side of the bed, attempting to stand on two feet without falling apart. There were immaculate sheets of thick and thin flung around the room, and a huge folded bedsheet, he assumed, on the armchair.

Mingyu picked up the pillow Jihoon was sleeping on. “You’ve been asleep for about two hours, but man, that was the most I was gonna give you.” He shrugged his shoulders, changing the pillowcase. “I tried really hard not to let any supervisors in, though,” he added, as if it was a very important detail.

Jihoon took the other pillow, turning it around, shaking it by the pillowcase. The soft white pillow came tumbling onto the bed. “Thanks?”

A piece of cloth seemed to tickle his wrist, and it looked like a loose piece of cloth that was cheaply made as a bracelet— as if it was torn off a thin robe and dyed a bit yellow. It was still tied perfectly around his wrist, surprisingly.

Would this be from Mingyu?

He watched the guy move on to unfold the bedsheet, pulling it apart and eyeing it as if the bedsheet owed him a mansion in his past life.

Probably not. Plus, it would be too awkward to ask.

“Hey, Jihoon. It’s going to be a few months until our internship ends.” Mingyu leaned against the coffee table, pinching a corner of the bedsheet between his fingers. He didn’t bat an eye at the falling pile of bedsheet next to his feet. “And, like, we have to go back to studying again.” A light sigh.

Oh, a few months? Jihoon forgot about that detail. He grabbed the new pillowcase from the table nearby. “That’s a long time from now…” A few months in hotel management? That still sounded like a lot of work even though they chose this life since first year.

Mingyu laughed nervously. “It sure is, but it’s only been a few weeks since we started. And, like, I guess the workload isn’t as much as those in other fields.” He had two corners of the bedsheet in his hands now. “But— I don’t know— I like this stuff.”

Jihoon’s lips tugged up lightly. It was cute to hear him talk about changing bedsheets and pillowcases and cleaning hotel bathrooms like this. He stacked the pillows on the bedside table. “Yeah, and I was lucky to be doing stuff like this with you.”

“Aw, if you say it like that, I might actually believe you.” Mingyu grinned cheekily, holding the corners of the bedsheet a Mingyu apart.

Bending down, Jihoon found the other two corners of the bedsheet. He stretched it out towards the head of the bed. Mingyu stepped around the crumbled cloth on the ground, stuffing the ends to the corners of the bed.

Mingyu laughed out of the blue. “Oh, yeah, I wanted to tell you. Yesterday…” He continued flattening the bed, telling his story from yesterday. Jihoon wrapped the other side of the bed nicely, occasionally laughing at Mingyu’s story.

They stood up straight after tucking the bedsheet – somewhat – neatly, and Jihoon poked his head into the epilogue of Mingyu’s story. “So are you going to go get the guy?” A wildlife biology boy? Sounds cute, right?

Mingyu looked away. “He’s in another university. I only saw him walking around the local park.” He cleared his throat, and turned around to look outside the window. He’d been avoiding eye contact with Jihoon and stupidly smiling to himself since he started telling him the story. “His glasses are cute, though,” he added, after a lifecycle of silence— and Jihoon could tell it probably  _ was _ an important detail.

Jihoon arranged the pillows in an aesthetic manner, giving each a light pat. He hummed in response. “Yeah, go chase.” Any boy that could shake this tree called Kim Mingyu and make him want to hide somewhere drowning in feelings— yeah, that’s the one.

When he exhaled and finally thought about how much energy just went into arranging this bed, he smoothed his uniform down, touching the logo on top of his chest.  _ Made My Dawn hotel _ . Ah, that’s right— this place used to be their dream. Actually, a second-option dream, maybe. The first was probably a multi-millionaire.

** _Back Then_ **

_ Master Key? Grandmaster Key?  _ He  _ guessed _ he understood these words?

First day of this hospitality course. And Jihoon was—  _ struggling _ .

The lecturer was consciously being evil and throwing them a bunch of key terms to remember over the next weekend. There was another half an hour before class ended. Students seated in the lecture hall buried themselves in their – presumably – favourite jacket, and all of them collectively stuffed the photocopied pieces of key-terms-paper into their own faces.

All of the students – like, if Jihoon could count, maybe less than a hundred students – were silently letting the words sink in. Jihoon wiggled his pen between his fingers, unsure of what kind of definitions he should underline. His eyes browsed through the two pieces of paper, seeing all the words jumbling around. This was making him so much more confused.

_ What on this peaceful Earth was  _ double-lock bed _ ?  _ He shook his head in an attempt to  _ unblur _ his vision.  _ Wait, no, it was double-lock, and single bed. _ All hail Lee Jihoon, who would  _ definitely  _ pass this class.

Out of the corner of his eye, Mingyu’s head was dropping to the beat of his watch’s ticking. His mouth was slightly open, and Jihoon felt an urge to stick his  _ multiple _ pens in there—  _ stealthily _ . Oh God, the lecturer’s evil tendencies were contagious.

“Okay, that’s enough of glazing.” The lecturer appeared at the mini podium at the front of the hall. Student heads popped up from all directions. Some stayed down. Such as Kim Mingyu.

Jihoon tapped Mingyu’s arm lightly. “Hey, Mingyu.” His quietest voice sounded so loud in this hall. He squeezed his eyes shut, scared to burst into a tantrum and shake Mingyu awake violently. “Mingyu. Kim Mingyu.”

He was glad that worked. Mingyu opened his eyes slightly and sat up straight. He rubbed his eyes, whispering softly. “Sorry, I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Everyone, take out the small piece of paper that I gave out.”

As Jihoon examined his table, he found a small piece of paper about the size of his palm sitting under his key-terms-papers. He made sure Mingyu was awake enough to grab his piece of paper— which he was, thank God.

The lecturer cleared his throat. “Write down one— or maybe two, your choice— Write down a hotel or hospitality service facility that you’ve always wanted to apply for. If you don’t have one, it’s okay. And also— this is just for fun, don’t take it too seriously.”

Before he was even finished, pens were scrubbing against the thin piece of paper. Jihoon tapped his pen on air before scribbling something down.

“Jihoon,” Mingyu spoke up next to him, body bent towards one side like the Leaning Tower of Pisa— considering how tall he was, of course. “What did you write? Can I see?”

Yeah, Kim Mingyu was always into  _ this _ extent of meddling. But Jihoon didn’t fight back, and showed him his paper. As if they were sharing answers on a test. Not like that would ever happen.

In a sloppy handwriting, which Mingyu had to squint his eyes to read, Jihoon wrote down the words that have always motivated him to take this class:  _ Made My Dawn hotel _ .

_ Made My Dawn hotel _ was that one classy hotel that would always have a smiling Jihoon every time he books a stay. Everything about that place was just so calming, and he even felt like there was a  _ calling _ that drew him towards this hotel. One’s passion for  _ anything _ could not beat Jihoon’s passion with  _ Made My Dawn hotel _ . Actually, Mingyu’s passion with  _ anything  _ might. And… maybe Jihoon’s passion with music, too.

He was watching Mingyu squint his eyes and he had a mini itch to punch him, but he froze when he saw the flashing of Mingyu’s answer.  _ Made My Dawn hotel _ .

Mingyu’s jaw-dropped expression was kind of contagious, too.

“Jihoon.”

Jihoon was starting to wonder when Mingyu would stop just saying his name so creepily like that— as if he was a mafia gang leader and was threatening a victim of sorts.

Mingyu turned from the window, suddenly replacing his stupid smile with another stupid smile. But both of them were different, okay? The previous one was filled with little hearts around it like he had some kind of filter applied on it; it was surrounded with roses and pink flowers— of pure love and blushes and Mingyu’s fantasies. The one now is a natural smile that he often flashed to charm people with his charisma— it was some kind of superpower, definitely.

He pointed outside the window, and Jihoon thought he’d seen the wildlife biology boy again. “Oh, yeah, Jihoon, there’s a new cafe that’s opening next door!”

Jihoon cocked his head to one side. “Hold on, a cafe? Since when?”

Mingyu closed his eyes and tipped his head back, celebrating as if he’d won an award. “Yes, yes, yes!” He was laughing, having a full-on fistfight with the air. He jumped on his two feet, and Jihoon questioned how he had that much energy. “Finally… we can stop eating instant noodles and white rice for three meals!”

A cafe? Amazing. But instant noodles and white rice for three meals? Jihoon didn’t quite mind that, actually.

From where he was standing, Jihoon could see several workers climbing ladders to hang a big sign on the shopfront. He smiled at Mingyu’s celebration. “Yeah, at least we know where to get some better food.” Today, he’d decided that he wouldn’t ruin Mingyu’s good mood for once.

It seemed like Mingyu appreciated his mercy? “Maybe I can even work there at night—” he stared straight at the cafe again— “as a barista or something.”

“What?” That was a random thought. “Kim Mingyu, you’re on internship. You work from eight to six, five days a week. Sometimes even more. You don’t want any rest?”

Mingyu laughed slightly, hiding his gaze. “Yeah, maybe I should rest.” He was quiet for a while; Jihoon thought he’d hurt his feelings. “But, Jihoon, let’s go there someday— when it opens, okay?”

Walking towards the huge window, Jihoon got a clearer view of the mini corner cafe. The sign was still blank— the name of the cafe was yet to be revealed, but Mingyu and Jihoon both shared an expectant smile. More workers emerged from the inside of the cafe, which was still dark. Some of them looked up at the workers hanging the sign, while the rest proceeded to clean the glass windows.

Jihoon hummed a  _ yes _ ; he remembered he kind of liked coffee.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 230120 ---  
here’s an update !! thank you for reading, always :>
> 
> [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/tangyuan__) [cc](https://curiouscat.me/tangyuan)

Grass tickled his red ankles that weren’t hurt but were printed red from sitting cross-legged on the floor for a bit too long. He was surprised he could stay so still on the ground. It was maybe more obvious why, though; he was in the practice room, just watching some students pull out some _ sick _ dance moves that made his eyes go wide open. Heck yeah, Soonyoung learned it _ instantly _.

He was still feeling a bit guilty for accidentally falling asleep for more than seven minutes – which was his highest record for the past year – in the lecture this morning. A student next to him even shook him awake. God, he really slept for _ almost _ twenty minutes, but thank goodness, it was just seventeen. He couldn’t imagine what kind of student his image would become if he slept for twenty minutes.

Plus, he didn’t remember why he was so tired in that instant. Was the class too boring? Maybe. He didn’t get that much sleep last night? He _ thought _he did.

Listening in on the Junior Dance Club in a borrowed drama room, Soonyoung was able to distract himself from the feeling of guilt for just an hour. He was allowed to advise the students and _ god _, were they so passionate about dancing! Soonyoung felt as if he had some apprentices of his own.

Then he guessed his status was still not-alone after that horrendous, embarrassing incident in the lecture, because Jeon Wonwoo – who was his classmate but also a close friend – accompanied him onto the grassy field near the campus.

Most people would feel uncomfortable walking into this exceptional degree of gleaming sunlight that could probably burn skin if exposed for more than ten minutes, but luckily for them, they had a little umbrella to camp under. For just a while— before the umbrella set itself aflame potentially?

“Surprisingly, I’m getting better at math. I feel like I’ve failed it several times, but the teacher says it’s the first time she saw me?” Soonyoung pinched his fingers at the end of his bag straps. He didn’t do math horribly or with difficulty, but it totally didn’t seem like he knew how to do this just off the top of his head; he must’ve retaken this course several times, no?

Wonwoo chuckled beside him. “No, I think it’s because you’re just naturally good at math.”

Soonyoung couldn’t help but reflect the sun’s brightness in his smile. “That’s not true! I still believe that I’ve somehow gotten crazy punishments for not completing a question or something. Maybe when I was in primary school.”

He watched Wonwoo plump down onto the grass before he did the same. Ouch, it was a bit hot. “God, Soonyoung,” Wonwoo said when their eyes meet. “Just accept the fact you’re good at math.”

Soonyoung shook his head. “Impossible.”

They sat still and silent for a while, feeling the pointy edges of the grass much softer than the fake grass they had on the other side of the campus. The sun was still ablaze, though now it was slowly being taken over by several clouds.

Soonyoung tapped his feet in beat, flattening the grass with his palms. “Wonwoo, what do you want to do in the future?”

He received no reply, but a small hum instead.

“Like,” Soonyoung interrupted Wonwoo’s thinking, holding his hands up defensively. “We all get this a bit too much, but what I mean is— what’s your dream? Without considering this capitalistic society or your position or royal blood or whatever.” He added a little laugh. “What do you want to be?”

This was maybe the deepest question that pondered in Soonyoung’s mind. Time to rest this brain for another two weeks.

Soonyoung thought about his own answer. Maybe he would want to be choreographer. Or a street dancer. Anything to do with dancing rang a bell in his head. He would never be able to live without dancing. A dance coach, perhaps? A mathematician? He wrinkled his nose. How would someone match dancing and math together? It sounded like he could settle on a bizarre combination like creating math questions related to dancing.

“I actually really want to open an internet cafe. I would— in the future.” Wonwoo straightened his back, sitting straight and tapping his fingertips on his folded knees.

It made sense— Wonwoo really liked gaming. Soonyoung remembered the playdates they’ve had in the computer lab during first year, when they couldn’t have a laptop for themselves. They had to occupy the whole of lunch time in there, trying to beat each other on every gaming platform.

Wonwoo ran his hand through his hair, having bits of grass fall from the sides of his wrists. “And what would be great – when I would truly have the best life ever, with all my life goals accomplished – would be when I reach that point in time where I can freely help animal shelters. Cat shelters. I would love to donate more and help take care of animals in shelters. That would be my dream.” His shoulders slumped. “But it seems like volunteer work instead of a—” he raised his hands in air-quotes— “‘job’. I guess I’ll still help no matter what, but…”

He trailed off before Soonyoung could figure out what he wanted to say. He still kind of did, though. “Yeah, I know. But you might be able to open your own internet cafe _ and _ help cat shelters in the future!”

Soonyoung was glad he was able to bring a smile to Wonwoo’s lips, because Wonwoo pushed his glasses up his nose and grinned at Soonyoung’s optimism. “Thanks, Soonyoung. You made me feel a lot better.”

He slapped Wonwoo’s arm playfully. “Don’t make it sound so cheesy, I just want you to go and achieve your goals!”

Wonwoo grabbed Soonyoung’s hand before it swatted around uncontrollably. Soonyoung felt as if he was being scolded or some sort; this was Wonwoo’s most serious look of all-time. And really, his every day look was serious. He decided to shut up. 

“Soonyoung, I want _ you _ to go chase your dreams.”

When Wonwoo sighed and let go of his wrist, Soonyoung exhaled. He might cry knowing how much Wonwoo cared about him and his dancing dreams. “Thanks, Wonw—”

“Y’know…” Wonwoo stared at the ground away from Soonyoung, hugging his legs close to him. “I used to have someone who meant a lot and a lot to me.”

Soonyoung blinked blankly. What? Was he telling him a story? His past?

He continued. “It’s fuzzy now. Though I’m sure it wasn’t too long ago. He meant a lot to me; he was – I guess, you could put it this way – my best friend. He made my life a lot better, and he made me suffer a little lesser in this cruel world we live in.” Wonwoo’s voice sounded smaller than usual. This person seemed to remind him of sentimental memories. What a nice person. It made Soonyoung wonder what happened between the two.

His heart swelled up for a weird reason. He kept listening.

“He was always very bubbly and positive, always making me feel like every situation is better than it is. He was a dancer as well. He had the biggest impact in my life. But, I… I don’t quite remember this person anymore.” He held his hand to his head as if he was trying to shoo away a bad migraine. “He’s just… I miss him a lot.”

Soonyoung kept quiet. He didn’t know what to say. I’m sorry? I can be him?

When Wonwoo turned around to meet his gaze, Soonyoung was surprised to find teardrops reflecting light. The rims of his eyes were almost red. “And you… you just remind me a lot of him.”

Strange, why was there a sinking feeling in his heart, as if it kind of pitied this person? Or was it maybe Wonwoo? He held a hand over his chest. Was this heart even his?

Wonwoo shook his head. “Sorry, that was a random outburst.” He grabbed his bag. “Let’s get going. We have to get back and do our homework. I have an assignment due tomorrow.”

_ Wait, don’t go. _ Soonyoung wanted to call out, but all he could do was sit motionless on the grass, watching Wonwoo stand and sweep dust off of his pants.

“Oh, right.” Wonwoo looked at Soonyoung, and attempted a smile through his pained eyes. “There’s a cafe opening nearby, you wanna try it when it opens?”

Soonyoung widened his eyes. He nodded. It appeared as if they were still good friends? Well, Soonyoung would still go; because he remembered he kind of liked coffee.

— — —

Living in an apartment that was a lengthy walking distance from the campus had a _ few _ pros. One of them was for exercise, of course— walking is good! Another was that you can spend less money on these rented rooms than the actual campus hostel— of course, granted if this apartment was cheaper. And… maybe choosing against living next to the street was a better idea.

Soonyoung thought so anyway. But those were just to cheer him up.

He had to walk a long way from campus, and his legs were feeling sore from walking up the mini hill. The sun was setting next to him, and he could almost feel someone walking behind him; but it wasn’t that uncommon, as many students _ probably _ made a similar decision as he did— which was to stay what felt like a whole country across the world.

Just kidding. Soonyoung liked walking, on _ most _days.

He fidgeted with his fingers before reaching the end of the street, where his apartment towered over him. He beeped a card on a machine before walking inside and climbing the _ final boss level _ to reach his room— the stairs.

The elevators were always dysfunctional after seven in the evening, which led to a few complaints from the people in this building. That was a week ago. But Soonyoung didn’t really want to test his chances with the elevator. The last time he remembered, he was stuck halfway up to his floor, and he tried jamming buttons, but in the end, he had to scream in order to be saved.

Lesson learned: Soonyoung and Elevator aren’t friends.

By the time he reached his front door, he was panting while reaching for his keys. Soonyoung needed to kick his shoe into the bottom of his worn-out wooden door in order to get inside— which he thought was a pretty secure way of not getting any robbers into his room. He swallowed, finding his throat as dry as his jokes.

Soonyoung shared a room with Lee Chan— he was his junior, but also an ex-neighbour. He guessed that now they were roommates, not even neighbours. Chan often camped in school, which Soonyoung often wondered why, but it was probably to study. He’d always known that Chan cared a lot about his grades, and even though he was in first year, he still wanted to be the best of the best. Not that he wasn’t— instead, Soonyoung thought he was perfect already.

It was honestly a little awkward for Soonyoung to stay with Chan for the past year. They just slept in different rooms, but they still cooked, did homework, talked, watched TV in the living room— like normal roommates.

Even though, before this, there was a secret between the two— and that was the event that crept on their backs to this day, which was when Chan confessed to Soonyoung two years ago.

Soonyoung waited too long to reply to him, and over time, they’d just silently agreed to never speak of it again. They still stayed friends, but it still got awkward sometimes.

Wrenching the door open to his room, Soonyoung sat on his bed and took a deep breath. His legs felt sore from climbing so much, though he never felt this sort of drag when he danced.

Guess it was just for stairs.

His hand reached for his bedside drawer, in which he stored something he’d found on his wrist when he woke up this morning. It was a piece of cloth, and it was initially wrapped flawlessly around his wrist. It was awkward to think that Chan put it there after failing to confess two years ago. Nonetheless, he took it off, and kept it neatly in a mini Pandora box.

Soonyoung stroked the thin yellowish cloth with his thumb. It was in good condition, though it seemed a bit fragile— but it was pretty. He turned the cloth around as if he was grilling meat. He felt his heart swell up. He felt like he was supposed to remember something, but he couldn’t quite pinpoint the memory.

Strange.

He shrugged it off before it could take over his mind and turn it into a month-long migraine. He tucked it into his box and stuffed it back into the drawer, before slumping his head on the bed.

Soonyoung wished his head wouldn’t hurt anymore. He’d been having a painful, thought-invading headache since this morning. Maybe that was why he kept getting some sort of memory loss. _ Good God, Soonyoung, get yourself together. _


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 210620 ---
> 
> sorry for the wait! here's a chapter <3  
i'm so excited for the comeback soon AAAAAAA
> 
> as usual, thank you so so so much for reading !!!  
[twitter](https://www.twitter.com/tangyuan__) [cc](https://curiouscat.me/tangyuan)

“This, and the fried egg, please.”

The clashing of utensils, ceramic bowls and plates sounded more peaceful than it used to be. If an audio was recorded in this staff cafeteria, it would sound like a high-class diner. Just that— there was only white rice, and several other dishes to choose from.

Jihoon balanced his tray on his hands while scanning the cafeteria for Mingyu. There was something different about it today; people seemed livelier? Happier?

It must be because of the cafe, wasn’t it?

Mingyu was, surprisingly, difficult to find. His tall being was scrunched in the corner, with his hands gripping onto his chopsticks and bowl. It even looked like he shrunk twice in size. His eyes were intensely watching a video on his phone propped up against a glass cup.

Jihoon approached him. “Kim Mingyu.”

“Lee Jihoon.”

This just became their daily greeting— as if they were detectives meeting one another down a hidden alley. Jihoon thought it was getting tiring to say ‘hi’.

Kim Mingyu looked up from his phone, turning off the video like it was top-top-secret and Jihoon  _ could not _ know about it. Well, maybe Jihoon would ask him later. Maybe it was a TV show? But he wasn’t able to watch any of the trending TV shows for so long. What do they play now? Jihoon was trying to come up with an example, but his mind was a blank slate.

“You got fried egg again?” Mingyu stuffed a rice ball into his mouth. He brought his packed lunch today. It must be nice being able to wake up so early and being clear-headed enough to cook a meal. Jihoon was a little envious.

Jihoon’s eyes bounced around his plate. White rice— cool. And delicious. Fried egg— decently enjoyable. Potatoes— somewhat tolerable. “Well,” he blew out his words. “I wanted to get the tteokbokki but the sauce didn’t seem very fresh…”

Mingyu shrugged, indifferent. “As expected.”

People swarmed around the cafeteria. Jihoon opened his mouth to say something— which he lost when a figure shadowed over their mini table.

“May I join you guys?”

When they looked up, they didn’t expect to find their manager standing over them with the sleeves of his suit folded up, holding a plate of rice and side dishes. His hand was already placed on a free chair to drag over, which made the possibility of being turned down not so possible.

Mingyu straightened his back, and Jihoon could see the slight chill in his eyes. “Mr. Yoon… sure!”

Both of them scooted towards the side of the wall, freeing space on the table for a new plate to slide in. Mr. Yoon Jeonghan. Their respected manager, who was basically running the place. His blond bangs were stylishly parted, placing emphasis on the pretty eyes right underneath it. If anyone could pull off this hairstyle, it would be a thousand percent, without a doubt, Yoon Jeonghan.

The levels that this man would go to have everything done his way would seem too devious sometimes, but with his face and his sweet-talking, probably no one would turn against him. But really— Yoon Jeonghan was one of the easier people to get along with. Only people like Jihoon and Mingyu would understand; the relationship between all of them was like a mysterious and awkward friends-close-friends encounter.

Mr. Yoon made himself comfortable on the side of the squeezy square table, dipping his utensils neatly into his rice. He looked up and faced Mingyu, who stared back with a virtual shield raised. “I saw what you were watching just now…” Mr. Yoon laughed, a melodious tune flying out of his mouth. “You’re still watching the same food videos from a month ago, huh?”

Jihoon tried to keep the rice in his mouth before shooting rice grains all over the both of them.  _ Ah, so it wasn’t a TV show. _ Mingyu’s food video addiction was fixed, for just how long he’d rewatch it: just about two months for each.

The pout on Mingyu’s face multiplied Mr. Yoon’s laughter by two.

When Mr. Yoon swallowed another spoonful of rice, he piped up. “Y’all know that there’s a cafe opening nearby, right?”

Jihoon nodded, stuffing white rice into his mouth. “Yeah.”

“I’m so excited for it.” Mingyu poked into his chicken. “I can finally wake up a little later.”

Mr. Yoon slapped him lightly on the arm. “Still be on time for work, though.”

“Yes, sir,” Mingyu murmured, followed by a deep sigh.

Mr. Yoon lifted his spoon near his mouth. “I bet there are many cute guys for singles like y’all,” he teased, adding a try-hard wink even though he probably  _ could _ wink.

Both Jihoon and Mingyu flashed their best what-kind-of-joke-are-you-making faces as a reply.

“I’m placing my bets on the barista. They’re cute.” Mr. Yoon chewed on his food and swallowed a whole lump of rice. “I’m psychic, I know.”

Mingyu tried laughing with a mouthful— spoiler alert, it didn’t quite work. “How did you know I was going to apply to be a barista?” When those words – followed by a few grains of rice – toppled onto the mini table, Jihoon’s face was more sour than all the lemonade in this cafeteria combined.

Jihoon dabbed at his rice repeatedly with his fork. This was going to be their last white rice meal— did he feel good about it? He wasn’t quite sure. Of course, he could think of a million ways to cook this bowl of rice better, and Mingyu could probably think of a million ways to make better – and fresher – tteokbokki.

Before he could decide whether or not he would still come back to the cafeteria to feast on this mediocre white rice, Mr. Yoon brought forward a rather attractive idea. “Both of you, I was thinking—” he wiggled his fork as it hovered above his plate— “you could work here after your internship. Y’all are pretty compatible with the team and together, so I was just wondering!” Jihoon was sort of enchanted – and impressed – by the way he could still smile after shoving food once again into his mouth.

Mingyu and Jihoon exchanged glances, as if to tell one another  _ this is the chance! _ and  _ oh my God, we have to stay here forever? _ It was about seventy percent a  _ yes _ , and thirty percent a  _ no _ , for Jihoon, anyway.

To Mingyu, it was probably an eighty-twenty ratio instead.

If they really could, they would stay. And this was an opportunity laid on their plates, on top of their balls of rice and tolerable potatoes.

So they said yes.

— — —

Mingyu and Jihoon were practically jiggly hopping back into the room they were cleaning before lunch. This room had yet to be occupied; they walked back to an empty room, somehow still a little messy.

They claimed their white pieces of cloth, as well as the mini coffee table that they’d each be cleaning. Jihoon asserted dominance on the one next to the sofa. Mingyu carefully captured the one next to the window.

And so, back to work.

Considering the number of minutes spent scrubbing the coffee table that didn’t even look dirty on the surface, Jihoon’s gears were already generating new tunes to record in the bathroom later. He ought to write a new song by now; it was such a great side hustle. He was getting some good clout on the internet, actually. His next mission was to secure a Jihoon fandom in Soundcloud itself.

The last song he’d released gained a few hundred followers; he wished his songs had reached people who’d give the same amount of love to it as much as he did. That latest song he’d written— “Smile Flower”, was it? There was a nostalgic ring to it which he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“Jihoon.”

Jihoon most likely forgot all the rhythms he’d planned to keep and notes he’d planned to hit. “Kim Mingyu.” And the codename thing was still going.

“What do you call a sheep without a head or legs?” Mingyu had his back turned, raising up a small bottle to chug down some water. Jihoon was a little thirsty for coke. It was actually a pretty simple concept: when others – like Mingyu – hydrate, they drink water; when he hydrates, he drinks coke.

Moving on to the next cleaning spot, Jihoon braced himself for another Mingyu-tier bad joke. He could already feel the intense straining in his brain once it was all said and done. A sigh. “Wha—”

Mingyu had already started laughing, coughing up a few millilitres of water. “ _ A cloud! _ ” His words were almost swallowed there.

Perhaps only the most of a chuckle came out of Jihoon’s mouth. An awkward one, to say the least. “Ming—”

The man whose name was about to tumble out of his mouth turned his back in a fraction of a second, as if he was throwing a dagger to cut off what Jihoon had wanted to say. “So, Jihoon, Jihoon, what do you call something brown and sticky?”

And, both of them simultaneously: “A stick.” Just that— one was more-than-over-the-top enthusiastic sprinkled with giggles, and another was a little way too apathetic rained with lethargy. Try guessing.

Of course, Mingyu threw a mini tantrum. “Hey, that was my joke to finish!” Mingyu draped his scrub in front of his torso with both hands, little drops of water seemingly hydrating the wooden floor a bit.

After a few jokes that did take a bit of beating around the bush and banter, Mingyu went silent. It was quite abrupt, for someone who’d been talking non-stop for at least half an hour.

“What’s wrong?”

Mingyu’s eyes didn’t leave the window, just like yesterday. Had his voice lost all of its energy from the ear-poisoning dumb jokes? “Jihoon…”

He’d might as well make his way across the room to avoid straining his ears for  _ another _ minute. “What is it this time?”

“I think… Right there— that’s him.” Mingyu put his cleaning cloth down to point at two boys walking along the pedestrian path. “That one, with the glasses, black shirt, black hair, white shoes! He, he— he’s that… that w—” his sentence fluctuated with its words slightly faltering— “wildlife biology boy.”

“Oh?” The end of Jihoon’s lips rose. “Looks pretty good.”

“Yeah, I know!” Was Mingyu  _ squealing _ ? Damn, these few days had been hectic for a mind like Jihoon’s.

_ Wait, hold on. _ The more had Jihoon watched the two boys walk past shops and towards a university nearby, the more his insides churned, the more his stomach sank, the more his heart  _ longed _ for something he didn’t think was there. What was this soulmate- voodoo story he’d been sucked into?

His eyes were attached to the boy next to the wildlife biology boy; the one with a collared shirt, with yellow badges – of tigers? – attached to his bag, messy black hair. And unlike the grinning Mingyu with falling flowers around him, Jihoon had his eyebrows furrowed and his lips slightly parted in awe; this feeling… it occurred to him as if he was missing something?

The boy— he looked, felt,  _ seemed _ , somewhat  _ strangely _ familiar.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 280720 --  
it's been a while! thank you for reading!!  
[twitter](https://www.twitter.com/diamondskies__) [cc](https://curiouscat.me/tangyuan)

For Soonyoung, internet cafes weren’t the most exclusive places in town. They were rows and rows of endless computers, as if someone replaced the walls with mirrors instead. Lord knows what creepy things everyone used these devices for— pirating school textbooks? Playing old school games? Looking up AO3? The possibilities were infinite.

For Wonwoo, rather, it was probably more of a home than his dorm was. But that was just part of Soonyoung’s assumption. Wonwoo would always reply to his  _ hey, wanna eat dinner tgt?  _ text with  _ nah, going to the cafe _ , so that was  _ one _ thing that cultivated a small crack on Soonyoung’s heart. He wished it wasn’t so easy to guess why this was Wonwoo’s home, because obvious enough, this place – a home to plenty – had a glittering neon sign flashing the words,  _ HOME internet cafe. _

When Soonyoung turned at the corners of the tables, trying not to accidentally peer over at what someone else was googling, he’d found a seat where both of them could camp in.

Not  _ camp _ , since they would leave in an hour or two, but  _ sort of _ — maybe more of, like,  _ stay _ . Though, it was comfortable enough – with the cold AC and free blankets and cushioned chairs and everything – to call it a  _ camp _ , so to say.

They settled for corner seats, and as Soonyoung started melting into the soft cushion of the chair – he’d ought to call it a  _ sofa _ – and enjoying the chilly air crashing into his face, Wonwoo had already started picking out a game they were going to play.

“We’re going to  _ Y8 Games _ .” Wonwoo’s hands were swift with the mouse.

“What?  _ Why ate _ ?”  _ Eat what now? _

Soonyoung watched Wonwoo’s fingers fly around the keyboard.  _ Y8… dot com? What? _

Clearly, Soonyoung was the polar opposite of a gamer guy. Or even a tech guy.

When he was told to place his fingers on the arrow keys, he’d tried testing them around on the first level.  _ Oh, that’s fun! The fireboy is moving! One jewel collected! _ And he’d guessed it was probably because his pinky accidentally sat too still on the right arrow key, that his little fire avatar – which he thought represented himself quite well – disintegrated into thin air. “Wonwoo… um…”

“Soonyoung.”

“Sorry.”

A sigh emerged from Wonwoo’s mouth as if he had the fireboy’s smoke.

Soonyoung could tell Wonwoo’s hair was almost grey by the time they’d completed the first level— and with a…  _ C _ . Contrasting Wonwoo’s facepalm, Soonyoung grinned from ear-to-ear as if he was the Cheshire cat. “We did it!”

“Just barely,” Wonwoo replied, his face turning to face Soonyoung. It reminded him of back then when his mom would lecture him on  _ everything _ , from school to leisure, even to  _ dating _ . But Wonwoo’s eyes didn’t capture the solemn gaze, the kind that put out fires because they were too cold, or the kind that  _ was _ the fire that watched Soonyoung burn into ashes. No— Wonwoo’s eyes were somehow warm, warm enough for him to feel the same longing, sentimental feel in his chest. Like last night.

And it was when Wonwoo waved a hand in front of his face he realised he’d been staring for too long.

“You’re okay?” The campfire in Wonwoo’s eyes was still there. “You zoned out? Was it the  _ C _ grade that you realised we got?”

A messed up jigsaw puzzle was all that Soonyoung’s mind was.

“It’s… it’s okay, you know. We won at the end, right?” Did Wonwoo suddenly possess fire powers or something? They were in his  _ eyes _ , in his  _ palms _ — Soonyoung thought he’d slowly caught himself falling for his best friend.

But no— it wouldn’t happen.  _ It can’t happen _ . Wonwoo’s his best friend. No more to it. It’d ruin everything. He took a deep breath and tried to compress the forbidden thoughts running through his brain right now. Poor Wonwoo, he probably thought Soonyoung was grieving their  _ C _ score.

Soonyoung frantically shook his head. “Sorry, Wonwoo. Um…”

His vision cleared and his mind started thinking straight when Wonwoo had already smiled and turned towards his screen again. Were they playing another round? Lord, Soonyoung already  _ knew _ they were going to be here until midnight if they were to.

He already raised his hand to stop him, but Wonwoo spoke to him without averting his eyes from the screen. “I’m just… looking at the school’s confession page right now.” A cheeky grin was dancing on his lips as if he’d found some juicy rumour; probably an indirect love letter to him  _ again _ .

Soonyoung laughed under his breath. “Why’re you on there?”

What he’d received was a light shrug.  _ Does everyone check confession pages for fun? _ He wondered if he should try it. He waited for him to continue, but he was greeted with silence.

“What’s on there?” Soonyoung leaned towards the back of his chair, feeling all of the energy leaving his body as he gathered them to convert them to courage— so they could deal with  _ whichever _ way his secret admirer confessed to him.

Wonwoo pointed a finger at the screen, though making sure his fingerprint didn’t imprint itself. He paused to summarise it, Soonyoung guessed.  _ Say, was his finger always that slender and pretty by itself? Like, just  _ one _ of them, not even looking at all of them at once. Had it always been— _

“I think it’s a confession.”

“I knew i—”

“They failed to confess.” Wonwoo’s eyebrows furrowed, giving a few creases between them. “I think,” he added.

_ Oh, so it wasn’t about him _ . Soonyoung didn’t know why that felt so relieving to hear— that it wasn’t Wonwoo’s secret admirer. He wasn’t relieved because the confessor failed, double sure, triple sure.

But a tightening in his chest brought along with this news reminded him of a specific memory. A memory in which he’d stored safely at the back of his mind. He’d never thought he’d remember it again, but it was pretty hard to escape from. Especially when it was a confession. And it involved flowers. And it was Chan.

** _Back Then_ **

Wasn’t it bizarre to think that someone would like him?

Soonyoung. An average boy. A mediocre student. An even more mediocre runner. And a below-below-average tech guy. It was even more bizarre to think that someone would even be  _ friends _ with him.

But maybe someone saw something in him. He didn’t know what that  _ something _ was, but at least he knew who the  _ someone _ was.

If he’d laid his life in a movie tape, every picture hanging closely behind the previous one, he wouldn’t have to squint to see who was  _ really _ in love with him. Honestly, he was still surprised  _ he _ did, since they’d barely interacted— and his motives were almost crystal clear at the beginning.

A place as common as the living room was perhaps where it all started. But evidently, Soonyoung’s memory and observance was not top-notch; it could’ve started  _ way  _ before, and he would never know.

If he’d paid enough attention, he could feel Chan’s gaze drop and rise rapidly every time he’d entered the room to grab a drink, or to sit beside him and ask him about school. If he’d paid enough attention, he could maybe feel Chan’s hands retreat when Soonyoung was almost grabbing the TV remote in between them.

Looking back at his little balls of memory that came rushing back to him, he’d eventually came to a conclusion that yes, Chan probably liked him since he’d moved in, and it was apparently  _ super _ obvious to Future Soonyoung but not the Past Soonyoung that’d floated past all those signs unknowingly.

And it was until the Big Thing happened, when all of it had started becoming clear, as if there was any fog to start with.

It was lunch hour at some point in May, and Soonyoung had ran through every hall because he seemed to have forgotten where his locker was.

“I like you, Soonyoung.” Chan had handheld flowers stuffed into a bouquet neatly, he’d held them so tightly Soonyoung couldn’t see the tremble hidden in his fingertips, in his wrists. It wasn’t a huge bouquet, Soonyoung could even count it with his fingers: two.

Two elegantly folded – and soaked in paint  _ and _ hung dry – tissue paper sat untouched, its creases in their perfect places, no blemish obvious enough to see on the surface. Wow, Soonyoung could feel the hairs on his skin stand as he stared more at the flowers and its effort than Chan’s steaming face.

Chan seemed like he hadn’t planned all this, as if he was more ready to confess when he’d hidden love letters in between table napkins, or in lunch boxes he would prepare for Soonyoung out of the blue.

Soonyoung blinked at the flowers, then at him. As someone who’d always talk too much for his own good, who’d never seemed to shut up, all the words had been stripped from him. He had  _ no idea _ what to do, he’d never confessed— how in the world was he supposed to  _ know _ how to reply to a confession?

“Chan…”

And it was as if Chan himself had predicted his reaction. “It’s okay, Soonyoung. Um, you can reply to me some other day, I—” he immediately shook his head, rattling the flowers in his hands— “I can wait, no rush.”

“That’s… great, Chan, um…” Well, this was  _ awkward _ .

Chan’s arms lost their energy, the pretty tissue flowers pointed to the ground like what his eyes had done. “I’ll just…”  _ Was he hurt? _ “I’ll go to class now.”

Had Soonyoung already hurt his feelings without responding to his confession? He’d considered running after him, calling out, saying,  _ Wait, no, it’s not your fault, I’m just stupid sometimes and I’m taken aback! _

But unfortunately, he’d already started walking away before Soonyoung could say anything that could reach his ears, whether content or unpleasant.

“Hey, um,” Wonwoo spoke up from beside him, metaphorically and figuratively shaking Soonyoung out of his second zone-out of the day. “I think I’ll have to go.”

Soonyoung didn’t mean to react in panic, but he’d shot up from his seat as Wonwoo slipped the strap of his bag on his shoulder. “No problem. I think I need to go, too.”

_ Go where? _ Wonwoo was probably learning another language or maybe studying for a test or something. Where was  _ he _ going? Was he just going to eat dinner by himself and go home and sit in front of his laptop for the rest of the night?

It honestly sounded like a plan, but  _ no _ .

When they’d finally exited the internet cafe after lining up in a queue, the sky was blue with a hint of orange, as if to remind Soonyoung that he ought to be eating his dinner right now. As he raised his head to stare into the sky, it was so cloudless he could almost see little blinking stars. Wonwoo turned right. “I’ll be going this way! See you tomorrow, Soonyoung!”

_ His smile could light up all the dark matter in space, and then scientists would rename it ‘light matter’— _

“Soonyoung?”

“Yes!” He pulled his bag closer to him, shooting back a bright grin. “I’ll see you around tomorrow!”

The distance between Wonwoo’s figure and him extended, and when Soonyoung concluded that Wonwoo wasn’t going to turn back and smile at him once again, he took a turn in the opposite direction.  _ What was up with Kwon Soonyoung today? _ The way he’d been acting was  _ weird _ , he was even surprised that Wonwoo would even  _ bring him _ to an internet cafe. Damn. And when did he start noticing the sharpness of his jaw? Or the stars in his eyes? Or the sun in his smile? When did he even start seeing Wonwoo differently, anyway?

His heart was beating so quick, and it was like  _ instinct _ . He looked up, and he watched a small figure of a young man dressed in white exiting a building on the opposite side. Initially, he didn’t think there was much to it. He strolled further, his feet feeling like drums, creating rhythms onto the pavement floor.

The boy had pretty black hair just like him, and he was maybe an inch or two shorter. Soonyoung didn’t need to guess to figure out he was probably almost the same age as him, or younger. He watched him fish his phone from his pocket and Soonyoung noticed the slenderness of his fingers that moved so delicately, he could almost hear the music of his fingertips against the keyboard. And when his eyebrows furrowed a second after he’d stopped typing, Soonyoung almost melted at the sight of his full lips curling up into a smile the instant moment after.

A mini road rolled out between them, and the wheels of cars rolled gently across his peripheral vision. When Soonyoung stopped right before the traffic light pole, he didn’t realise he’d been staring at the white-shirt-boy for so long, just a few meters away.

He looked back. And their eyes met. Coincidentally.

And there it was— the growing pain in his chest, the swelling of his heart. Soonyoung thought he’d left the frantically-panicking agenda back in the internet cafe, but he was wrong about it not coming back to bite him. He turned on his heel, running in the other direction of the white-shirt-boy. Did he even  _ know _ who he was? No? God, he probably thought Soonyoung was  _ weird _ . Well, that’s  _ one _ more person to share the same verdict.

When did he start  _ running  _ from people? He thought he needed to  _ save energy _ . Strange enough, when did he start  _ noticing _ people? And their eyes and their nose and their lips, and taking in  _ so much  _ of it? And plus, in which timeline had Soonyoung ever thought about dating? None. Actually none. But maybe except this one.

Or maybe— there were just  _ really  _ good-looking people in this area.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 170820 --  
hi!! thank u for waiting for a new chapter~ i aim to write faster and publish every 17th of the month, please scream at me if i don't achieve my goal!!!  
thank you so much once again for reading~
> 
> [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/campfiires) [cc](https://curiouscat.me/tangyuan)  
(i changed my twt user from @diamondskies__ to @campfiires !!!)

If Jihoon had a choice of leaving the building and eating something else and skipping the cafeteria’s white rice,  _ honestly _ , he’d say no. He wasn’t a fan of the  _ ‘outside’ _ , and moreover, he really liked white rice.

But Mingyu always had his ways of convincing Jihoon otherwise. The last time they tried French food, he’d said all that the cafeteria had was white rice, with  _ no _ other sides. When they’d tried a coffee shop down a few blocks, he’d said the cafeteria was so packed they wouldn’t be able to get their batch and at the time, Jihoon was  _ starving _ , with his stomach digesting itself and all.

This time— Mingyu rushed in front of him to say, “Let’s go to the cafe! It just opened! And I see it all over my home feed on  _ every _ social media platform.”

Jihoon didn’t really expect a confrontation  _ today _ , since he hadn’t checked his social media in a while. He balanced three pillows on his palms. “Okay… and?”

“It’s just— one time.  _ Please? _ ” Mingyu held his hands together as if Jihoon was a God and Mingyu worshipped him. On this note, Jihoon let go of the breath he’d held and he sighed as a response.

Was it worth it ditching white rice just to see Mingyu jump in circles like he won the lottery? Maybe.

— — —

He let Mingyu push open the glass doors.  _ Ring ring _ . The song he had on repeat for two weeks at some point in the past,  _ Fallin’ Flower _ , was blasted through the big speakers at the far corners of the shop. The walls were littered with fairy lights dangling, and he almost felt the urge to touch all of them. The faint aroma of either coffee or cologne filled the space, he couldn’t tell. It was probably a mix of both.

“What would you like?” A middle-aged man stood behind a counter and smiled brightly at the both of them. Jihoon guessed he was probably a little over sixty; his hair was long and frizzy and tied into a mini man bun on top of his head, strands of white hair decorating every corner of his head. To be honest, Jihoon would’ve thought he looked pretty young for his age if it weren’t for his immaculate man bun and raspy voice, because his skin was less wrinkly and  _ really _ well maintained.

Mingyu didn’t hesitate to hop right in front of the counter, scanning through the menu laid in front of them with his shiny eyes. Jihoon examined the whole cafe, as if he was a classy critic. The cafe was renovated well with its choice of sleek wallpaper, and the far back wall looked like a picture of a universe; white dots, which Jihoon assumed were supposed to be stars, splattered across the black paint, with some neatly hand drawn planets here and there. Pretty.

He’d almost missed the chance to order. “What would you like, Jihoon?”

On the menu he’d gazed down on, his eyes rummaged through the lists of coffee and tea, and light breakfast meals, and fancy dinner sets. This cafe seemed to be the cafe that other restaurants would want to be; it was nearly perfect, from its decorations to music choice, and even a kind old man barista.

“I’ll have an iced americano.” Jihoon didn’t realise his voice was so muted until Mingyu had to repeat it for the kind old man barista to hear. He kept his eyes on the menu to avoid feeling other kinds of embarrassment.

When he felt the big tree beside him – Kim Mingyu,  _ obviously _ – disappear from his side, he looked up and chased after his tall figure. Mingyu pointed at a small table of two with his sweater paws. “We’ll sit here, it seems nice.”

As Jihoon picked the cushioned seat, he felt his body sink into the soft sofa. His eyes fell closed like the blinds of a window in the evening; his body was craving a break— and it was just noon.

Ice clanking against the walls of a glass made him straighten himself, and he watched Mingyu eye the tall glass of iced americano sitting right in between them. If Jihoon didn’t know him this well, he wouldn’t have offered him a sip. But his eyes were glittering and his mouth was probably watering.

“You want a sip?” Reluctantly, Jihoon pushed it slightly towards him anyway.

And Mingyu, without a shame, as usual, he went for a sip after murmuring a small ‘thank you’. As Mingyu lifted the glass, a white card tumbled from its butt.

“What’s that?” Jihoon reached his hand towards the card, and he’d almost wanted to call a waiter to return it. “A card?”

Mingyu wiped his mouth with a napkin as he placed the glass down. “Why would they have that?” He leaned towards Jihoon, who was flipping the card back and forth to examine its every corner.

_ Don’t forget! You’re very loved! We love you! _ The card read. Jihoon furrowed his eyebrows, studying the message with a tad bit of concern.  _ What? _

“Well, I think it’s a message.” Jihoon’s eyes looked around, peering at other people’s glasses of drinks. “I think they give this to every customer?”

Mingyu nodded in admiration first, his eyes wide and staring into Jihoon’s soul as if he’d written it himself, but within a few seconds, his face morphed into a kid’s grin. “That’s so cool! And that’s so nice of them, too.”

He handed him the card, and Mingyu eyed it up and down. Mingyu was having that childlike energy again, and it was after  _ one _ sip of iced americano. If only it could work like this for Jihoon as well.

“This reminds me of the wildlife biology boy.” He was too busy smiling to himself to actually read what was on the card. That was Jihoon’s guess.

“What?” He almost wanted to laugh. “He said he loved you?”

“ _ No! _ ” Mingyu’s smile disappeared and turned into red ink that seeped into his cheeks. He swatted the air in front of Jihoon as if that did anything. “I wish.” He pouted, looking at the floor, likely indulging in his fantasies.

Jihoon drank a little of the iced americano, wincing at the bitterness at first. “Then?”

“He just…” Mingyu fidgeted with the card. “He just gives me that vibe, you know?”

Jihoon nodded, prompting him to go on.

“Yesterday…” Mingyu bit his lip, as if there was a secret he was trying to cover up. “We met up.”

“ _ What? _ ” Even though half of Jihoon was expecting it, his surprise got the better of him. He tried not to cough out half of his drink. “You met… up? You met him? For real?”

“Yeah…” Mingyu’s voice was soft, and his enormous figure seemed to shrink into his wooden chair. “I met Wildlife Biology Boy. Just outside here. I think just a few shops down?” Mingyu waved his finger, pointing at somewhere behind him. “And we talked for a while.”

Jihoon listened closely to his story, and it was becoming a huge realisation moment to him. Mingyu was  _ getting _ a guy. Mingyu was  _ meeting _ his crush, of some sort. The next time they meet, would Mingyu have a  _ boyfriend _ ?

Damn, it was getting a little hard to imagine. Though, it was so obvious that Mingyu would be the one to bail on Jihoon than vice versa. He didn’t know whether he would accept Mingyu’s rejections of cafe outings or dinner outings or cafeteria meals together because  _ Mingyu’s boyfriend _ was in the way.

“What’s his name?” Jihoon didn’t realise he’d accidentally disrupted the story-telling. “Your story is so hard to understand without the names.”

Mingyu smiled slyly to himself, as if he just won over his phone number. Which he didn’t— he’d won over his  _ name _ . “I think he’s Wonwoo.”

_ Interesting. _ So now, Jihoon had to wait for Mingyu’s text to  _ eventually _ reach his phone, saying he had a date with  _ Wonwoo _ , that he couldn’t join him at lunch. Sad emoji. That’d be unfortunate if it were to happen. Jihoon didn’t know if he’d be able to accept it. Could he say no when the time comes? He couldn’t possibly rely on eating with Mr. Yoon  _ every day _ . He shuddered at the thought.

In the midst of Mingyu’s love story updates, Jihoon’s heart started hurting. He had  _ zero _ minds to think that it was for Mingyu, because this would be a  _ hellhole _ — his  _ life _ would be hell,  _ Mingyu’s _ love life would be hell. And honestly, he was thankful that it probably wasn’t for Mingyu. Because he’d felt this. Just two days ago.

Just two days ago, when he’d seen a young boy, probably around his age or older, he had a black button-down t-shirt, as if he’d just returned from a school presentation. He’d seen the boy walk towards him, right on the other side of the mini road; it was as if that road had determined whether Jihoon would be able to talk to him the way Mingyu had talked to Wonwoo.

He’d felt this pull in his heart, as if his rapid-beating heart would splurge out of his chest and run towards the boy who’d been staring so closely at him— was he supposed to find him familiar? Did they know each other? Jihoon was a million percent sure they didn’t. But his heart seemed to disagree, because his mind was chanting countless  _ yes _ ’es,  _ yes, they know each other _ , no matter how much Jihoon couldn’t quite recall.

And as Jihoon sent a text to Mingyu saying he was going to go home without waiting for him to get back from the convenience store, he’d finally gathered the courage to look at the boy in the eyes.

It was as if the boy had felt it too, as if he’d felt that pain in his chest, like chains that tangled itself together, he turned at his heel, and ran off in the other direction.

He may have been a missed connection. And maybe Jihoon had lost someone who could’ve been  _ someone _ in his life. But maybe they’d meet again. And was Jihoon ready for that?

— — —

“Right, Jihoon?”

When he’d undone his zoning out, Jihoon’s entire vision was filled with Mingyu’s face, his kiddy, excited face, probably asking for Jihoon’s validation and approval on Wonwoo’s perfect eyes. And nose. And lips.

Jihoon nodded slowly, because one, Jihoon had never seen Wonwoo up close before, how was he supposed to know? And two, he kind of trusted Mingyu’s taste in eyes and noses and lips. And perhaps three, he was a little distracted. Distracted by the extra gravitational pull he’d felt behind his ribcage; he wasn’t sure whether he was distracted by its presence or its pain.

But when his eyes drifted towards the door at the shopfront by instinct, he’d once again seen the boy. The boy his eyes met two days ago.

“I’m so happy we can sit here and enjoy the good food.” Mingyu was still talking to himself, or maybe his cup of coffee. “And maybe we can see cute boys around here, like what Mr. Yoon said.” His lips tugged up in a gentle smile.

Jihoon tried to shake the feeling from his head to his toes. He wanted to escape from the feeling. Just delete this feeling from his chest, just  _ delete _ his heart, rather. He wished he could keep in touch with Mingyu’s story, or whatever topic of conversation they were supposed to be having. He wished he hadn’t noticed the boy at the shopfront, who perhaps wouldn’t even  _ recognise _ him anyway, right?

_ Why was he here? _ Maybe he lived around here.  _ But the coincidence? What? _ Maybe the shop was taking in staff today.  _ But now?  _ Just as he was sitting here?

Mingyu had obviously sensed the uneasy feeling plastered all over Jihoon’s face. “What’s wrong? Why, why? Who do you see? Do you know someone? Where? Cute boy?” And like a mom that’d made known that there was a classmate lurking around in a public place, his eyes swarmed around the entire cafe, pinning down every dust floating in the air.

Jihoon blocked his face with his hands, but he was rather uncertain about what the hell he was scared of, or who the hell he was hiding from. And when he squeaked for the first time in half an hour, his voice was shaky and raspy:

“Shut up, Kim Mingyu, I have to get out of here.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 170920 --  
hi! i'm here again!  
we've reached 10 chapters!!! ^__^ thank you so much for reading!
> 
> **\- tangyuan**  
[twitter](https://www.twitter.com/campfiires) [cc](https://curiouscat.me/tangyuan)

Soonyoung would count today as Day One of the part-time job that he was dragged into without his consent.

Honestly, he wouldn’t be angry about this because it was Wonwoo who had signed him up for this, but he  _ was _ a bit bothered; having this part time job cut into his free time in which he did  _ nothing _ was not very favourable to him.

Yesterday’s interview didn’t really go well. Not only because he wasn’t sure where on Earth Wonwoo got the brochures or flyers from, he also had no idea what  _ specific _ job Wonwoo had picked for him. But he made a rough guess, it was probably a barista.

_ Beep _ , wrong. It was a cashier— well not really. Maybe an order-taker?

The barista was instead a kind old man who had a pretty bun secured on the top of his head, and he was so pleasantly surprised to find out this was the boss of the cafe. From what he’d known, the majority of bosses didn’t usually hang a smile wherever they went. But Mr. Park, on the other hand, he was  _ the _ only person in the team who was leaping around grinning at everyone. What a precious soul.

As for Soonyoung, his job was to just stand behind the counter. At the interview, he’d demonstrated clearly that he was not one with his memory; he could barely remember which liquids to take and which ones to mix, also which buttons to press and where to place things. Soonyoung would swear it was only that  _ specific _ day – yesterday – that he had bad memory, but then again, he wouldn’t bet on today’s memory either. So Mr. Park spared him, and placed him behind the counter instead, helping him take orders since, unfortunately, he wasn’t super great at collecting money as well.

Well, now that Soonyoung saw it, he was  _ really _ not suitable to run cafes and such.

“So it’s  _ just _ a hot matcha latte, yes?” Soonyoung’s fingers were tapping away on the iPad they’d placed in front of his spot. The customer nodded and proceeded to dig through their purse for change. Soonyoung tried his hardest to get used to using this iPad, and proud to say, he was getting the hang of it.

He fidgeted with his apron as he watched the door; people were pacing back and forth outside, and yet, no one had walked in yet. It was probably more popular yesterday. And this morning. But his shifts were after school. And this meant two things: one, he wouldn’t be walking home beside the sunset, and he also wouldn’t be going to the internet cafe anymore. He wasn’t even sure whether Wonwoo would let him tag along after that time they went on  _ Y8 Games _ .

And today was a Saturday. And that meant longer work shifts. He groaned under his breath at the thought of it.

From the corner of his eye, he caught a drink getting wrapped up already. He turned around to face a black shelf, and he pulled out a drawer on the bottom. In these shelves, there were probably a million little cards that contained some little odes that he was supposed to give to customers. Mr. Park told him that was the unique point of this cafe.

Soonyoung picked a random card, and went to hide it somewhere on the cup. This was a take-away order, so he couldn’t hide it underneath. He decided to slip it on the side, and he smiled at the aesthetic of it all.

Mr. Park had told him yesterday that, at times, he should get blank cards and write them himself since there weren’t  _ that many _ , even though Soonyoung’s take was that there  _ was a hell lot _ inside that black shelf.

But on top of Soonyoung’s pretty bad memory, Soonyoung’s mind was also a bit empty today. Dammit, it was a bad day to count as Day One. Could he count tomorrow as Day One instead?

“Thank you, here’s your matcha latte.” He nodded at the customer with a bright smile, and he tried not to feel hurt when all he received was a nod with not even a pair of eyes looking back at him. He should probably get used to this.

Before he could distract himself away from it, Wonwoo seemed to have done it. He waved at him from behind the glass doors before welcoming himself inside. “Hey, Soonyoung.”

“Why the hell did you sign me up for this and  _ not _ yourself?”

A shrug. “You had time to spare.”

Soonyoung narrowed his eyes. “Did not.”

If Wonwoo thought his shrugs were conversation-enders, he was  _ wrong _ . But it wasn’t like Soonyoung could do anything about it anyway. Wonwoo laughed at his pout and dissatisfaction. Could he even call Wonwoo a ‘bro’ anymore at this point?

Soonyoung wouldn’t have realised that a queue was forming behind Wonwoo if he didn’t scoot towards the side and say, “Soonyoung, do your job.”

He started getting the order slip ready on the iPad, rolling his eyes before the customer stepped up. “Yes,  _ boss _ .”

— — —

Walking around in the night was scary, on the average, to Soonyoung. He wouldn’t do it again. But he was sure he had to. Probably tomorrow. Something about working longer shifts on weekends made his skin itch.

He’d dragged himself into his dorm, seeing Chan’s small figure reading a novel on the sofa in front of a turned-off TV. “Hey.”

Chan looked up from his book after memorising the page number and probably which line as well. “Hi! Tired?”

“Yeah. A stupid friend of mine signed me up for a part-time job.” He could feel his own energy lingering at fifteen percent.

Soonyoung could hear Chan ‘oh’ing at his pain. “That must suck.”

“Sure does.” Had it always been this awkward talking to Chan? Just ‘ _ Hey _ ’s and ‘ _ That must suck _ ’s? But Soonyoung could barely continue talking to  _ himself _ , so he made his way towards the back. Just before closing his door, he called out, “Goodnight, Chan.”

“You’re sleeping so early?”

“Beauties need their beauty sleep.”

And when he locked his door, he could hear Chan’s distant chuckling in the background.

He slumped on his bed, his bedsheets cradling his fragile body as he closed his eyes. Last night, he was in the same position, just that he wasn’t this worn out. Instead, his heart was beating super quick, as if he was out running three rounds before reaching the dorm.

And it was solely because of one boy. That one boy, the one he’d seen in white outside the other building that day. The boy that somehow planted a ticking bomb in his heart, magnetising him towards him. He would doubt that this was  _ crushing _ , because he didn’t even know him!

He remembered seeing the pretty boy sitting together with another person yesterday, and he seemed to be staring at him, because when Soonyoung looked over, Pretty Boy hid his face in his hands and hid away.

Was it because Soonyoung was being overly creepy? Or did Pretty Boy feel the same tingling in his chest, too?

Maybe he could’ve gone over there and said something. Like  _ I like your hair _ , or  _ I like your eyes _ , or  _ Your hands are nice _ , or  _ You’re so pretty and I like you _ . Soonyoung had to touch his cheeks with his palms to avoid blowing up his skin. He could almost imagine telling Pretty Boy those words.

Damn, all these ideas for the cards in the cafe… if Mr. Park knew about this, he would be super happy. Soonyoung was right! His mind was empty for just  _ today _ , he was sure he had a talent for coming up with cute and cheesy lines to give customers!

But did he… really want to tell Pretty Boy ‘ _ I like you _ ’ already? They’d barely met other than coincidental eye contacts and maybe a common rhythm beating in their chest. Soonyoung wasn’t even sure if Pretty Boy felt the same. They probably didn’t go to the same university— and that would be true if Pretty Boy was in university. But one thing that was great? They were in the same city. Pretty Boy must’ve been living around here, they’d met twice already.

Something about it let butterflies loose in his gut.

What if they met again? Would Pretty Boy hide away? Would he run towards Soonyoung and say something? Or maybe tell him to go away? Hopefully not.

Soonyoung wished Pretty Boy would feel the same about him. And he wished he could meet him again. And maybe finally settle the endless churning and tugging of his own heart. What was it anyway? It was like his heart  _ knew _ that Pretty Boy was his soulmate or something.

Were soulmates real? Was love real? If love was real, if soulmates were real, maybe Soonyoung could give it a chance.

Why was he thinking so much at night? Soonyoung truly thought he bought the idea of beauties needing beauty sleep. And the fact that he was a  _ beauty _ !

He had to get this down somewhere.

Soonyoung got up and almost thought he’d broken his neck, and thank lord he didn’t, because he started digging like a dog through his bedside drawer. His hand lifted a box and reached for a small stack of line paper.  _ Write it down, write it down—  _ Wait.

The Pandora Box.

He opened it for the second time since he’d found the bracelet on his wrist. The soft silky yellow cloth still felt comforting under his fingertips. He caressed the top of the cloth bracelet as if it was his family heritage, as if it was gold. He was unsure what  _ about _ this bracelet made him want to shield it from blizzards and tornadoes, whirlwinds and earthquakes.

And when Soonyoung found a pen under his table to scribble on his lined paper with, he found himself writing the first few words straight from his reckless heart and tired mind:

_ Dear Stranger, _

His pen paused.  _ What the hell was this? _

Soonyoung would slap himself to the moon  _ then _ burn this piece of paper. Was he really starting to write a  _ love letter _ to someone he hadn’t even met for more than three times?

A million times embarrassed, he ran his pen over the two words, layering it over and over with black ink; his heart was thumping so harshly against his chest as if telling Soonyoung to write those two words  _ again _ .

He squeezed his eyes closed, almost peeing himself because of how embarrassing this was, even if he was by himself, in his bedroom, with a single desk lamp turned on, with a locked door. Heavy breathing, heavy breathing,  _ breathing. _

With a hovering pen over a smudged and crossed-out section of lined paper, Soonyoung held his brittle head with a sweating hand.  _ Screw this stupid love story thing, Kwon Soonyoung wants to go to bed. _


End file.
